
• 1 1 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



PETER PEPPERCORN 



(Emanuel Price ). 



For faults or for failings I have no excuse 
No praise I desire, care not for abuse. 




PHILADELPHIA: 

DAVID McKAY, 23 South Ninth Street. 

1884. 



DEDICATION. 



To the Honorable Fraternity of 
Waste-paper Dealers ; 
As a Tribute to their Worth, 
In not only Concealing the Faults, 
But in Carefully Transmitting to the Pulp Tub 
The Fragmentary Remains of 
Defunct Authors. 



PREFACE. 



Published to sell. 
4 



CONTENTS. 



RURAL POEMS. 

PAGE 

Weeds and Wild Flowers 9 

The Poor Man's Sunday 10 

Only a Seed 12 

Spring t 13 

A Humble Countiy Life be Mine 14 

The Three Sifters 15 

The Book of Nature 16 

A Labor of Love 17 

Indications of Winter 18 

My Last Wish ; . . 19 

Bloodroot • 20 

The Wind Flower 21 

The Grass .• 22 

May Flowers 23 

Dandelion 24 

The Quaker Lady 26 

Ladies'-Tresses 27 

The Tulip Tree 28 

The Brook , . . . 28 

Wissahickon, the Gem of the Vale 29 

The Schuylkill 30 

The Dragon-Fly 31 

The Tree Frog 32 

The Lily that Grew in the Glade ^t, 

The Blue-Bird 34 

Katydid 35 

The Tumble-Bugs 36 

The Spider ^ 

The Mosquito ' 39 

The Whip-Poor- WiU 41 

The Humming-Bird 42 

A Winter Scene 43 

Sunday in the Country 44 

My Creed 45 

SONGS AND SATIRES 

Progress 47 

The Old Birth-Place 48 

5 



6 CONTENTS. 

Think and Labor 49 

50 

Put your Shoulder to the Wheel 51 

Willing Heart! and Hands United 52 

Room for All 53 

Universal Brotherhood 54 

Up or D<»wn 55 

There '« a Better Day a-coming, By-and by 56 

rdy Sons of Toil 57 

Work and Think 58 

Come, Let us Be I lappy 58 

The t ientle < me at Home 59 

The belle of the Vale 60 

The « me who Thinks of Me 60 

( me Kiss, and now ( lood-Night 61 

Where there 's a Will there 's a Way 62 

My Love's Grave 63 

The P< .tent I -ittle Pen 64 

Blest is the Man who Has a Good Wife 65 

The Hammer t 66 

Love Cannot be bought 67 

Fity the Fallen One 67 

I )o you I .ove Me as you Did when I was Young ?. 68 

Blanks and Prizes 68 

Smile on Me Once Again 69 

M ight Maketh Right 70 

Xutting in the Park 7 1 

Welcome to All 72 

Woman is the Best of All 73 

Our Emblem 74 

Good-Bye 75 

Every Dog will Have his Day 76 

Con-isttncy 77 

A Friend in the Pocket for Me 78 

old England 79 

The I .and T I .ove the Best 80 

Keep up the Good Old Custom 81 

The ( harming Little City by the Sea 82 

Modern Philosophy 82 

The Darkey's Lament 83 

What I Hear and What I See 84 

The Cross-Beam Tree 85 

Bigotry and Science 86 

The Song of the Sparrow 89 

Get Rich if You Would be Respected 90 



CONTENTS. 7 

PAGE. 

Gold 91 

Sympathy 92 

The Revised Edition 93 

Outbid the House of Gin 94 

The Days of Old 95 

The Coast Guard 96 

Theory and Fact 97 

You or 1 98 

The Song of the Pickpocket 99 

Protect the Workingman 100 

The Politician 101 

Song of the Medical Student 103 

Friendly Advice 104 

The Song of the Commune 105 

The Two Doxies 106 

Down on the Poor 107 

Do n't Tell 10S 

Everyday Experience 109 

Brotherly Love 1 1 1 

Independence Hall 112 

An Address to the Devil 114 

Independence Square 116 

Organized Charity 1 1 7 

The Political Quack 118 

The Centennial Matter in a Nut-Shell 119 

Seeing and Hearing 120 

The Bosses and the Serfs. 126 

How I Saw Him 127 

Timely Warning 1 2S 

Grab-All 129 

The Two Crows 1 30 

The Blessings of Taxation 137 

Who Owns the Park ? 139 

Glorious Prospects 140 

Sing a Song of Free Love 141 

Mr. and Mrs. Grundy 142 

Courtship, Marriage, and Divorce 143 

The True State of Affairs 144 

Popular Opinion 14S 

The Pauper Skeleton 150 

A Pn mise to Pay 154 

What Folks Go to Church For 155 

The Right to Quack 156 

The Good Old Whipping- Post 157 

Father Gander's Melodies 159 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

John Hull to his Son Sam 

The Income Tax 164 

A Chance for Mediums 166 

1-uss and Feathers 167 

Samuel Calf to John Hull 169 

John Hull to Samuel Calf 171 

If the Devil were to Die 174 

Mother Church and Daughters 176 

There is no Mistake About Tha f 178 

The Cry is, Still they Steal 179 

In Front of State-House Row 181 

Pretension and Reality 1 83 

Ninety-Cents a Day 184 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

The Lone Wife 186 

To My Wife's Pet Canary 187 

Robert Burns 188 

Scnt'er them Over 189 

Old Books 190 

To my Old Pipe 194 

Tobacco 195 

True Independence 196 

Pleasure and Rest 197 

Bacon and Shakespeare 198 

Neglect ; 198 

The Cheering Ray . 1 99 

The Pride of Man 200 

The Cemetery Gate 201 

A Day in Camp 202 

I Iydrant Water 204 

Confessions of a Loaf 205 

The CongTess of Nations 206 

Equality . . 211 

First and Second Mortgage 212 

A Nursery Rhyme 212 

Tnvi'ation to Centennial Poets 213 

The Devil and the Saints 214 

POLITICAL. 

The Eve of Election 217 

Sing a Song of Greenbacks 219 

An Appeal for the Starving South 221 

Put Cut Another Loan 222 

Mr. Lo ! 224 




RURAL POEMS. 



WEEDS AND WILD FLOWERS. 

I love the weeds and wild flowers, 

Wherever they may be : 
In field, in forest, and in dell, 

They lovely are to me : 
And if the truth must be confessed, 
I scarcely know which I love best ! 

I greet them in the early spring, 

As soon as they appear ; 
I seek them when the summer sun 

Is shining warm and clear; 
Beside the brook, upon the lea : 
And still they are as dear to me ! 

I hail them in the autumn days, 
When leaves begin to die ; 

And when the dreary winter comes, 
I fondly say good-bye ! 

Hoping, should my life remain, 

To meet them in the spring again \ 



RURAL POEMS. 



THE POOR MAN- SUNDAY. 

Thrice welcome, Sunday, ever dear: 

The poor man's day of rest ; 
Of all the days it is to me 

The happiest and the best. 

For then I leave the workshop's din, 

The busy haunts of men, 
To wander in some shady wood 

Or some sequestered glen ; 

Where climbing vines like festoons hang 

In clusters overhead, 
And mossy carpets, decked with flowers, 

Beneath the feet are spread : 

Drink from the spring, where summer's sun 

Was never known to gleam ; 
Whose waters wander through the moss 

To mingle with the stream. 

In lonely dells, by babbling brooks, 

I take delight to stray ; 
Where dew-drops shine like beads of pearl, 

And flowers bedeck the way. 

Six days 'midst noise and dust I toil, 

With scarce an hour to spare ! 
But now, thank God ! I have a day 

To breathe the pure, fresh air. 

Ah ! what a pleasure to enjoy 

The cool, refreshing breeze, 
That comes all laden with perfume, 

Amidst the shady trees: 






RURAL POEMS. 

To sit beside the babbling brook 
That runs so cool and clear ; 

The rippling rill amidst the stones, 
Is music to the ear. 

My six days' toil is here forgot ; 

The cares next week may bring; 
I sit upon my mossy throne 

More happy than a king! 

The insect and the feathered tribes 
Around me sport and play — 

Forgive, O God! if living thus, 
I desecrate the day. 

Leaves from the Book of Nature here 

Are scattered all around ; 
Though new editions oft appear, 

Erratas are not found : 

Nor does a falsehood stain its page, 
No matter where you look — 

How blest mankind, were it the same 
With every other book ! 

For then all ruthless war would end,. 
All jarring creeds would cease; 

This world become a Paradise 
Of harmony and peace. 



12 RURAL POEMS. 



ONLY A SEED. 

There was a lender violet seed 

Developed from a cell, 
Dropped carelessly upon the mead 

Beside a lonely dell : 
And there, amidst decaying mould, 
It laid all winter in the cold. 

But in its globule form there was 

A germ of life concealed ; 
Unseen by any human eye, 

To science unrevealed : 
How it retained vitality, 
To reason was a mystery. 

When spring succeeded winter's strife 
And showers refreshed the earth, 

The puny seed burst into life 
And to a plant gave birth : 

It almost seemed the little thing 

Was conscious of the opening spring ! 

And as the summer nearer drew, 

By some mysterious power 
A stem uprose, and stronger grew, 

Put forth a lovely flower ; 
Which, as it ripened into bloom, 
Diffused around a sweet perfume. 

Could it have been but force and light, 

The moisture and the heat, 
That gave it life, and formed aright 

The flower so blue and sweet ? 
Such beauty on it to bestow ! 
The voice of reason answers, No ! 



RURAL POEMS. 13 

There 's not a flower that blooms to grace 

The hill, the vale, the stream, 
But in. its form the mind may trace 

A Power that reigns supreme : 
Though Nature owns no sect or creed, 
It teaches morals in a seed. 



SPRING. 

The sun is shining brightly 

To welcome in the spring ; 
The sparrows are a-building ; 

The blue-bird comes to sing ; 
The maple trees are blooming ; 

The crocus flowers appear ; 
The opening buds proclaiming 

That Spring will soon be here ! 

The days are getting longer, 

The sky a clearer blue ; 
The weather growing warmer, 

The grass has a greener hue ; 
The fish-hawk comes to tell us 

The shad are drawing near ; 
The fishermen are singing, 

"Oh, Spring will soon be here!' 

Old Winter hath departed, 

His reign is at an end, 
And soon will be forgotten, 

Like a dead or absent friend. 
And anxious we are waiting 

For the swallow to appear, 
And bring us the glad tidings 

That Spring is really here ! 



i 4 RURAL POEMS. 



A HUMBLE COUNTRY LIFE BE MINE. 

Away from all the city strife, 
The misery, vice, and woe, 
Lei doc enjoy a peaceful life, 

Where gentle streamlets flow. 

A rural cottage, built with care, 

Beneath a shady tree; 
A loving wife, my joys to share, 

To cheer and comfort me ; 

A little garden deck'd with flowers; 

A seat beside the door, 
Where I can pass my leisure hours, 

And Nature's works explore ; 

And watch the rising sun at morn 

Peep o'er the shady trees ; 
The feathery tufts of Indian corn 

A-waving to the breeze ; 

And when the shades of evening close, 

And Sol sinks in the west, 
Let me enjoy that calm repose 

From labor — peaceful rest. 

I ask not title, fame, or wealth, 

Or servants at my call; 
A peaceful life, content, good health, 

Are better than them all. 



Let statesmen climb ambition's height, 
And sell their souls for fame ; 

The warrior seek amid the fight 
To gain an honor'd name ; 



RURAL POEMS. 

A humble country life be mine, 

A wife, a trusty friend, 
To aid me when my days decline, 

And cheer me to the end. 

And when my earthly troubles cease 

Within the silent tomb, 
Pray, let my body rest in peace 

Where fragrant wild flowers bloom ! 



THE THREE SISTERS. 

Spring came ; with dewy fingers touched upon the moun- 
tain side 

The budding dogwood tree, and lo ! 

It donned a robe as white as snow, 
Fair as the blushing bride. 

Then Summer came; with balmy breeze her mission to 
fulfill ; 
And where she threw perfume around, 
A thousand flowers sprang from the ground, 

Adorning vale and hill. 

When Autumn came she gazed and said, "The flowers 
are gone, I see : 

It grieves me to be thus bereft 

Of things I prize ; there 's nothing left 
But fading leaves for me. 

" How sad it is to live alone, with none to love," she 

sighed; 
" I dread stern Winter's chilling blast." 

With breaking heart, her blood she cast 
Upon the leaves, and died ! 



rf AT A', I/, POEMS. 

THE BOOK OF NATURE. 

TO AN VI i 

The Book of Nature is a book 

The truest that I know ; 
And all may on its pages look, 

The high as well as low. 

In it there is no creed expressed, 

No man can it control ; 
Its breadth extends from east to west, 

Its length from pole to pole. 

Though varying in every sphere, 

It differs but in name ; 
One great Infinite Mind is there, 

In every clime the same. 

Upon the rude tempestuous sea, 

And in the desert drear, 
The same designing Hand we see 

Is present everywhere. 

But you who say there is no God, 

And do His works deny, 
Look down upon the grassy sod, 

Look up toward the sky ; 

And tell what makes the grass to grow ? 

The twinkling stars so bright? 
The sun to shine ? the stream to flow ? 

The moon illume the night? 

With reasoning eye gaze near and far 
O'er Nature's broad expanse ; 

Then ask yourself, if such things are 
The mere result of chance ? 






RURAL POEMS. 17 

A LABOR OF LOVE. 

The Book of Nature is open at all seasons. 

If you a Botanist would be, 

Roam over hill and dale ; 
Inspect each flower, each plant, each tree, 

That grows within the vale ; 

Climb craggy rocks and mountains high ; 

Scan every shady nook ; 
Search cave and cavern, wet and dry ; 

Lake, river, fen, and brook j 

Traverse the forest and the field, 

The desert and the dell ; 
For Nature there doth beauties yield 

Which Art can not excel ; 

And flowers in all their varied hues, 

So lovely to behold, 
Their fragrant odors will diffuse, 

And all their charms unfold. 

In mid-day sun, in evening shade, 

Your task do not neglect ; 
For all that Nature's hand has made 

Is worthy of respect : 

And Nature's book, with open page, 

Through all creation cries 
To all mankind, from age to age, 

Peruse me and be wise ! 

Controlled by neither State nor Church, 

All freely may it view ; 
And though ten thousand times we search, 

There still is something new ! 



18 ATA', I A AH) AIMS 



INDICATIONS OF WINTER. 

The leaves are falling from tlie trees, 
And coldly blows the northern breeze; 
The humming-bird has taken flight 

To southern regions warm and bright ; 
The butterfly no more is seen \ 
The frog, in coat of russet green, 
Is in some swamp securely hid ; 
And silent is the katydid. 
The grasshopper is heard no more ; 
The squirrel hath laid-in his store 
Of nuts in some old hollow tree; 
And dormant is the busy bee. 
The noisy locust, too, is dead, 
The cat-bird to the south has fled ; 
The croaking tree-frog's voice is still ; 
We hark in vain for whip-poor-will ; 
The fire-fly, with its sparkling light, 
No more illumes the glade at night ; 
The dragon-fly, with gauzy wing; 
The hornet, with his pointed sting; 
And many other insects gay, 
Have with the summer passed away ! 
The turtle, too, has ceased to crawl ; 
The tumble-bugs to roll their ball; 
No more the lizard sports around, 
But hybernates beneath the ground. 
Under some stone or in some brake, 
Lies hid the deadly rattlesnake; 
The vile mosquito, too, has ceased 
Upon our precious blood to feast ; 
The sprightly bat no longer sails 
Around, when evening shade prevails; 
The crane, the swallow, and wild swan, 
Have all to a warmer climate gone. 



RURAL POEMS. 19 

Wild ducks and geese from northern lake 
A southerly direction take, 
The air resounding with their shrieks; 
The bear his winter quarters seeks ; 
The beaver hath returned to dwell 
Within his icy citadel. 
Fair Flora's summer reign is o'er ! 
Bright flowers bedeck the vale no more ; 
The woods and fields look quite forlorn; 
The air feels chilly night and morn ; 
All vegetation's at a stand, 
Denoting winter's near at hand. 

Thus Nature, forcibly and clear, 
Points out the seasons of the year; 
And seems to say to great and small : 
A Providence reigns over all ! 
No matter where the Power may lie — 
Beneath the earth, above the sky — 
A Voice through all creation cries : 
The Book of Nature never lies. 



MY LAST WISH. 

Not amid moss-covered stones, 
Decaying coffins, mouldering bones, 

But in some glade, 
Or else some lonely glen 
Far from the haunts of men, 

Let me be laid, 

In silence and alone ! 
Uncared for and unknown, 

I soon shall be; 
But let the blue-birds sing, 
And wild flowers in the spring 

Bloom over me ! 



RURAL POEMS. 



BLOODROOT.* 

Krc the trees arc bedeck'd in their garments of green, 
Or the Storms Of the winter art- past. 

The bloodroot its pale, pearly blossom upheaves, 
Alone in the forest amid the dry leaves 

Which protect its frail form from the blast. 

It looks like a snow-flake stern winter has left; 

A flower of so tender a form 
One would almost imagine it would have been best 
To have let it remain 'd in the earth safe at rest, 

Till the weather was genial and warm. 

But He who created made all for the best, 

And bestows with a bountiful hand ; 
While we, His frail creatures, through folly and pride 
Feigning wisdom that shall our great ignorance hide, 

Condemn things we can not understand. 

This beautiful flower, as fair as the dawn, 

At morn appears lovely and gay ; 
But ere evening closes, its vigor is sped ; 
Attempt but to grasp it, its petals are shed, 

And mingled again with the clay. 

Each year, gentle flower, I greet thee with joy, 

For thou fond recollections doth bring 
Of the pleasure I felt the first time I survey 'd 
Thy delicate form in the wild forest glade, 

Thou sweet little emblem of Spring ! 

* The Sangninaricc Canadensis, better known by the name of 
Bloodroot, is one of the earliest and most beautiful of our Spring 
flow.ers, making its appearance before any of the forest trees 

Their budding leaves unfold. 

In some little dell, sheltered from the rude breath of old Boreas, 
v here the genial rays of the sun have awakened it from its winter 



RURAL POEMS. 



THE WIND FLOWER. 

Come with me to the woods when the March wind 
blows, 

And I'll show you a flower in bloom 
Whose delicate petals outrival the rose, 

Though it hath not the faintest perfume. 

In the depth of the wood, at the foot of a tree, 

I found it in beauty, alone; 
A waif in the forest, a stranger to me, 

But I loved it and called it my own. 

And every spring to the woods I repair, 
When the blue-biid is singing with glee; 

Though years have flown past since I first found it 
there, 
It still seems as lovely to me. 

You may ask why I fancy the frail little thing, 

And perhaps at my favorite sneer; 
But I love it because it heralds the Spring, 

Ere a swallow hath dared to appear. 



slumbers, peeping up amid the dry leaves, appears the delicate 
white blossom of the Bloodroot ; later in the season, one and some- 
times two leaves make their appearance, but these never attain 
their full development until after the (lower has disappeared. The 
root is about three inches long and of the thickness of a man's finger. 
On being broken, it y ; elds a secretion resembling blood; hence its 
name. It is reported as having been used by the Indians as a 
paint. As a harbinger of Spring, it is worthy of veneration as the 
Galanthus nivalis, or snow-drop of Eun pe. 



RURAL POEMS. 



THE GRASS. 

Throughout the world in every clime, 

This lowly plant is seen ; 
Clothing the woodland and the vale 

And field, with living green. 

It climbs the rugged mountain-side, 

O'erspreads the dreary moor ; 
And grows upon the rich man's lawn, 

And at the poor man's door. 

It creeps along the river bank, 

Around the crystal spring; 
And equally adorns the grave 

Of beggar, prelate, king. 

With it the squirrel lines its nest ; 

In it the field-mouse hides; 
Through it the turtle gently creeps, 

And deadly serpent glides. 

In spring its linear leaves again 

Assume a greener hue ; 
The flinty culm* uprears its head, 

Bedecked with morning dew. 

In summer, when the scythe has laid 

It prostrate on the ground, 
It withers in the sun, but throws 

A sweet perfume around. 

Yet still this humble little plant 

Its usefulness retains ; 
When dried, it serves as food for kine 

Whilst dreary winter reigns. 

* The culm, or stem, of all the grass tribe contains flint. 



RURAL POEMS. 23 



MAY FLOWERS. 

When the little Claytonia blooms by the stream, 

And the Red Bud entices the bee, 
The Houstonia appears with its petals of blue, 

And adorns both the meadow and lea. 

The Trailing Arbutus, so rich with perfume, 
And the Dogzoood' s white blossom is seen ; 

The Buttercup gladdens the hill and the vale, 
Peeping up through a carpet of green. 

In the cleft of the rock lovely Columbine waves, 

Polemonium delights in the shade ; 
By the clear crystal spring, with the pale Cardamine, 
Myosotis enlivens the glade. 

On the warm, sunny bank where the Celandine grows, 

Glechoma its beauties unfold ; 
By the murmuring brook Senicio displays 

Its flowerets of purple and gold. 

Azalea blooms on the rugged hill-side, 

Anemone under the trees, 
And the beautiful Lilac, that fine Persian flower, 

Gives forth its perfume to the breeze. 

Then haste to the woods and pluck the wild flowers, 

For hundreds their beauties display ; 
Fair Flora invites you her treasures to see, 

For this is the sweet month of May ! 



_v» RURAL POEMS. 

DANDELION* 

There is a little flower which grows 

In almost every place ; 
There scarcely is a child but knows 

Us pretty yellow face. 

Before the blue-bird tunes his lay, 

Or trees their leaves unfold, 
It on the sunny banks displays 

Its flowerets bright as gold. 

It upward peeps amid the grass 

Beside the murmuring brook ; 
Inviting strangers as they pass, 

Upon its face to look. 

By hundreds they adorn the field 

When Sol illumes the skies; 
But quickly is each face concealed 

Whenever storms arise. 

In gabose wigs, as white as snow, 

In summer they are dress 'd ; 
The children call them clocks, and blow, 

The time of day to test. 

* In the latter part of March, or beginning of April, there may 
be seen growing on the sunny bank side a modest little yellow 
flower, or rather a series of small flowerets, each a perfect flower 
in itself, but so neatly combined as to appear, to a casual ob- 
server, but a single flower; but when its formation is minutely 
examined, with its beautiful golden flowerets, reflected anthers 
glistening with yellow pollen, and its imbricated calyx, it will be 
found to be arranged with better judgment, and displaying more 
geometrical skill in its formation, than there is in the finest ma- 
chine ever constructed by human hands ; and yet it is 

"Only a dandelion." 

When the flowerets wither, and the calyx shuts up, the seeds are 
not ready for the purpose nature designed them; therefore, the 



RURAL POEMS. 25 

The aigrette, then, o'er hill and mead 

Is wafted through the air; 
The means whereby the tiny seed 

Are scattered everywhere. 

And often as a rural chain 

Encircling the neck 
Of school-girls playing in the lane, 

The hollow stems bedeck. 

Although for it no sweet perfume 

Have Nature's laws devised, 
Yet were it scarce, I dare presume, 

It would be highly prized. 

And though no poet of the past 

Has deigned to sing thy fame, 
I sound for thee this hearty blast 

To celebrate thy name ! 

Too long thou hast neglected been j 

But while thy flowerets shine, 
Thou little flower of golden mien, 

Thou ever shalt be mine ! 

withered flowerets, twist in a mass to keep oft the rain, while 
the pillar of the seed-down grows to its full lergth, and they are 
pushed off; the pillars still rising, bear upon the calyx, which now 
gently expands ; while, at the same time, the receptacle, altering 
its form from concave to convex, the calyx is more and more de- 
flected, till at length its segments are pushed parallel with the 
stalk, and the globe of down is complete in its beauty, ready and 
prepared for that mystic flight which spreads its progeny abroad 
upon the earth. Like many other flowers, the dandelion closes- 
up soon after sunset, unless in very fine weather; and does not 
open in the morning until old Sol has dispelled the dews of the 
night. Man, with all his boasted wisdom, might learn a useful 
lesson from this despised little flower, in shunning 
"The chilly dews of night." 
The common name of dandelion is a corruption of the word 
"dent-de-lion," or lien's tooth, from a fancied resemblance cf 
the leaf to the tooth of that animal. The botanical name, Leonto- 
don Taraxacum, expresses the same idea. 



26 RURAL POEMS. 



THE QUAKER LADY. 

Beside a little winding stream 

That ripples over many a shallow, 

And sometimes loiters on the way 
Beneath the alder and the willow — 

met upon an April day, 
In a lone spot that 's damp and shady, 
Peeping Up amidst the grass, 

The modest little Quaker Lady, 

Her pale blue eye enraptured me: 
And all unmindful of my duty, 

I stood and gazed like one entranced, 
For who could fail to love such beauty? 

Such innocence, and yet so fair ! 

It sacrilege would be to harm her. 
Each year my pleasure is renewed 

When first I meet the little charmer. 

Hail ! modest flower, thou pride of spring ! 

That doth bright summer days foreshadow ; 
Amidst the grass, like streaks of snow, 

Adorning mountain-side and meadow. 

Though other flowers may deck the lawn, 
And for their perfume be held rarer, 

There 's not a gem in Flora's train, 
In field of forest, that is fairer. 



RURAL POEMS. 27 



LADIES'-TRESSES. 

Upon the border of a swamp, 

Beside the cardamine and cresses, 
Amidst the sedges and the moss, 

I found the little " ladies' -tresses." 
Fair as the spotless virgin bride, 

Bright as the pearly dew that crowned it; 
To me it seems but yesterday, 

Though twenty years since first I found it ! 

In autumn, when the forest leaves 

Show by their tint that summer 's over, 
I seek my little floral gem 

As fondly as a youthful lover. 
Around its form fond memory clings, 

As if some magic tie had bound it ; 
As strongly and as fresh to-day, 

Though twenty years since first I found it ! 

Its spiral, snowy, wax-like flower 

I greet anew each year with pleasure ; 
As fondly, too, upon it gaze 

As miser gazes on his treasure. 
To other eyes it small may seem : 

To mine there is a charm around it 
That ever takes me back again, 

Though twenty years since first I found it ! 

The artist may, with matchless skill, 

Portray the finest form and feature; 
Yet works of art are at the best 

But copies of the works of Nature. 
In youth and age "forget-me-not" 

'I'he sentiment of love expresses; 
But all through life let me enjoy 

The charm that flows from " ladics'-tresses.' 



RURAL POEMS. 



THE TULIP TREE. 

I greet the rays of the morning sun, 
Ere they glitter on lake or stream; 

And I bid farewell when the day is done, 
To the last surviving beam. 

I firmly stand and my head uphold 
To the storm, as it rushes by; 

The summer heat and the winter cold, 
For a century I defy. 

But when the wood-thrush comes to sing, 
My crown with flowers I braid ; 

And bow to the balmy breeze of spring, 
As it murmurs through the glade. 

The buttonwood tree may flourish free, 

And scatter its balls around; 
The walnut and the chestnut tree 

With nuts bestrew the ground ; 

The rugged oak, with arms outspread, 

May form its leafy shade ; 
But above them all I rear my head, 

The king of the forest glade ! 



THE BROOK. 

Bubbling up in the mossy dell, 
Meandering through the rushes, 

Kissing the sweet forget-me-not 
Underneath the bushes ; 

Rippling over the pebbly stones, 
Through the sedges gliding, 

Where the pontederia blooms 
And the snake is hiding. 



RURAL POEMS. 29 

Nursing the lovely cardinal flower,* 

The pride of all the valley ; 
Flowing beneath the broad green leaves 

Of the fragrant water-lily. f 

Swiftly here and slowly there, 

Moving onward ever ; 
In a zig-zag course it flows 

To mingle with the river. 



WISSAHICKON, THE GEM OF THE VALE. 

There is a small stream winds its way through the 
mountain, 

And gently meanders through valley and dale, 
With water as pure as the clear, crystal fountain: 

'T is the sweet Wissahickon, the gem of the vale! 

With its high, craggy banks, crowned with chestnut and 
cedar, 

Where the hemlock and tulip tree wave in the gale, 
And its margins are clothed with oak, maple, and willow : 

The sweet Wissahickon, the gem of the vale ! 

How charming to wander amid the green bowers, 
Where whispering lovers oft tell their fond tale; 

And cull the arbutus, the sweetest of flowers 
Tnat deck Wissahickon, the gem of the vale ! 

When Sol sinks to rest in a halo of splendor, 

And thy voice, Whip-poor-will, echoes over the dale. 

And the moon lights the glen, how delightful to wander 
Thy banks, Wissahickon, sweet gem of the vale ! 

* Lobelia cardinalis. f Nymphcea odorata. 



3 o RURAL POEMS. 



THE SCHUYLKILL. 

Lovely Schuylkill ! how oft by thy side I have rambled 
From morn's early dawn till the close of the day; 

U|> thy high rocky banks, too, how oft have I scrambled, 
To gather the wild flowers so fresh and so gay. 

As fondly I gazed on those innocent treasures, 
The cares of the world were forgotten by me ; 

With joy I reflect on the hours of rare pleasures 

I passed on thy banks, lovely Schuylkill, with thee ! 

Ah ! what were thy charms when the timid deer 
bounded 

Beside thy fair stream, over mountain and lea; 
And the children of Nature the war-whoop resounded 

Amid thy wild woodlands, so brave and so free. 

When the frail birch canoe was cleaving thy waters 
As calm and as clear as the brightest sunbeam, 

And thy margin adorned with those fair forest daughters, 
As pure as the lily which grows in thy stream ; 

What must they have felt when at last forced to sever 
From the home of their childhood so dear to the 
heart ! 

Th »ugh from thy green banks they are banished forever, 
The name which they gave thee will never depart. 

Though civilization has tarnished thy grandeur, 
And robbed thy green margin of many a tree, 

The lovers of nature delight still to wander 

The romantic banks, lovely Schuylkill, with thee. 



RURAL POEMS. 31 



THE DRAGON-FLY. 

Little insect, blithe and gay, 

In the summer roaming 
To-and-fro the livelong day, 
Active in pursuit of prey, 

Where the flowers are blooming. 

Sporting over fields so green, 

Up and down the valley, 
In the sunshine often seen 
Resting like a Naiad queen 

On the water-lily. 

Gauzy are thy wings and bright, 

Body long and taper; 
And so rapid is thy flight, 
In an instant out of sight, 

Vanishing like vapor ! 

When the day is warm and dry, 

Seldom taking leisure ; 
Backward, forward, thou canst fly; 
In the twinkling of an eye 

Stop thyself, at pleasure. 

Without sting, from venom free, 

Harmless as a beadle ; 
So it fairly puzzles me, 
How thou canst "snake doctor" be? 

O; "devil's darning needle?" 

When the summer days have fled, 

Fairest flowers over, 
Ere the trees their leaves have shed, 
Thou art numbered with the dead, 

Merry little rover! 



32 RURAL POEMS. 



THE TREE FROG. 

In May-time, when the buttercups 

Their yellow blossoms show ; 
And dogwood decks the woodland glade, 
In robe as white as snow ; 

When lilac flowers perfume the air; 

And red-bud blooms appear, 
Amid the moss-clad forest trees 

Thy croaking voice I hear. 

How oft the sound hath made me pause 

Beside some lofty tree; 
And scan the rugged trunk with care, 

In hope of finding thee; 

But far too oft I sought in vain 

To find thy hiding-place ; 
So like the lichen on the bark, 

Although before my face. 

Thou weather-prophet of the wood ! 

This mystery explain : 
Whence comes thy knowledge to foretell 

Of the approaching rain? 

For when the sky is clear and bright, 
And reason whispers, "Stay!" 

Thy instinct gives a warning voice, 
Which bids me haste away. 

But still, it pleases me to hear 

The old familiar strain ; 
It calls the happy, happy days 

Of boyhood back again ! 



RURAL POEMS. 33 

Croak on, thou little harmless thing, 

Till summer blossoms fade ; 
A better weather almanac 

Than wise man ever made. 



THE LILY THAT GREW IN THE GLADE. 

In a lone, mossy dell, by a clear crystal spring, 

A lily there grew in the shade; 
Far brighter than gem in the crown of a king, 

Was this beautiful gem of the glade. 

At morn, when the dew-drops in glistening array 

Bedecked every green, grassy blade, 
The blue-bird came singing, so blithsome and gay, 

O'er the lily that grew in the glade. 

At noon, when the zephyr — ah ! exquisite bliss- 
Through the leaves with soft murmuring play'd, 

The honey-bee came and stole a sweet kiss 
From the lily that grew in the glade. 

When the evening gave way to the shades of the night, 
And the sky with bright stars was arrayed, 

The fire-fly came with his lantern to light 
The lily that grew in the glade. 

But, alas ! on the morrow, like all things below, 

This fair flower was destined to fade, 
For rude Boreas came rushing along, and laid low 

The lily that grew in the glade ! 

So it is with the pleasures of life we enjoy ; 

Though in health, or with grandeur array'd, 
We bloom here to-day, but to-morrow may die, 

Like the lily that grew in the glade. 



34 RURAL POEMS. 



THE BLUE-BIRD.* 

Again I hear the blue-bird sing, 
I know his cheerful voice ; 

He brings me tidings of t he spring, 
Which makes my heart rejoice. 

Before the sun, with genial ray, 
Awakes the dormant bee, 

He comes and sings a roundelay 
Upon the leafless tree. 

How pleasing is the tuneful strain 

To my enraptured ear ! 
It plainly tells, on hill and plain, 

Bright flowers will soon appear : 

Anemone, with petals blue ; 

The dogwood blossom, pale ; 
The red-bud and the maple, too, 

Adorn both wood and vale : 

The twittering swallow, by-and-by, 
Come from his Southern home ; 

The velvet-winged wood butterfly 
Amid the forest roam. 

Sweet harbinger of summer days, 
Sing on ! with artless glee ; 

None but a ruffian ere would raise 
A hand to injure thee! 

* Emberizi cymean — Linn. 



RURAL FORMS. 35 



KATYDID. 

Sultry was the summer evening, 

In the month of hot July; 
Here and there a small cloud floated, 

In the crimson western sky. 

But when night had spread her mantle 
Over woodland, vale, and hill, 

Not a zephyr then was breathing ; 
E'en the aspen leaf was still. 

Languidly I sat reposing, 

Half-asleep within the glade, 

When methought I heard a murmuring 
Voice amidst the maple shade. 

Silently I sat and listened, 
Wondering if there could be 

Dryad, sylvan elf, or fairy, 
Hiding in the maple tree. 

Not a leaf to me seem'd moving ; 

But, among the branches hid, 
Some mysterious little creature 

Softly whisper'd, " Katydid." 

What? But not another sentence 

Fell upon my anxious ear. 
Could some disembodied spirit 

From another world be here ? 

Half-asham'd, I asked the question : 
Is it friend or foe that 's hid ? 

Or is there a spirit present ? 

Something answered, % \ Katydid." 



36 RURAL POEMS. 

Who was Kate, and where her dwelling? 

Was there any one ( ould tell ? 
Had she been some Indian maiden, 

And the fairest of the dell? 

Seriously 1 put the query 
To the mystic creature hid : 

Can a woman keep a secret ? 
And it answer'dj " Katydid." 

What could be the solemn mystery 
So religiously concealed ? 
"Katydid." But what ? Who knew it? 
Would it ever be revealed ? 

.Stranger still — a woman's secret 
From the babbling world is hid ! 

For the wisest village gossip 
Cannot tell what — "Katydid." 



THE TUMBLE-BUGS. 

It was upon a summer day 

I through the fields was strolling, 

And there two little tumble-bugs 
I saw, a ball a-rolling. 

I sat me down upon the grass 

To study natural history; 
For bugs and ball, I must confess, 

To me were quite a mystery. 

I looked at them with wondering eyes, 

They were so very busy ; 
And thought the little creatures were, 

"A lesson for the lazy." 



RURAL POEMS. 37 

Now up, now down, and 'round about, 

They never seemed to tire ; 
Who could such perseverance see, 

And not straightway admire ? 

And still I sat, and at them gazed, 

As keenly as a lover ; 
And fairly smiled to see them both, 

Sometimes, go rolling over. 

The large one's head was on the ground, 

Feet working by back-action ; 
The small one clung fast to the ball, 

And acted by attraction. 

So cleverly the work was done, 

It made me wonder, whether 
They understood each other's moves, 

And knew to act together. 

When anything was in their way, 

In order to avoid it, 
They left their ball to look, and then 

Returned and passed beside it. 

I watched them roll the ball along 

Until, at last, I found 
They took their little prize into 

A hole beneath the ground. 

And there I left them toiling on, 

Their mission to fulfill; 
The lesson gave me pleasure then, 

And is a pleasure still. 



38 RURAL POEMS. 

THE SPIDER. 

Little insect, who can see 

Those silken fly-traps made by thee, 

Adorning meadow, vale, and hill, 

And not admire thy wondrous skill? 

How neatly every line is laid, 

Though of five hundred sections made ! 

And, without twisting, joined together, 

Long or short, to suit the weather. 

No engineer can thee excel, 

Or draw so true a* parallel ; 

Though he has compass, rule, and square, 

His work will not with thine compare. 

Although thou art not college-bred, 

The elements of Euclid read, 

Nor studied Hutton or Napier, 

Thy geometric skill is clear. 

And when thy web is all complete, 

Thou hidest in a safe retreat ; 

And if some daring fly should venture 

To break thy line or pierce the centre, 

No matter how much skill he tries, 

He cannot take thee by surprise; 

For there thou liest all the day, 

Ready to pounce upon thy prey. 

As a weaver, too, thou art profound, 

For in thy work no knot is found ; 

And if thy web is rent in twain, 

It quickly is re-formed again; 

But where the ends have been re-joined 

Would puzzle anyone to find. 

Wise man, with all his boasted skill, 

Has never yet, nor ever will, 

Though art and science both combine, 

Construct a thread as fine as thine ! 

Or form a net so strong, so neat, 

As thou canst make with thy small feet! 



RURAL POEMS, 39 

Although thy name is now despised, 
How soon thy labor would be prized, 
If thy threads were spun with gold ; 
Who could then thy worth unfold ? 
Man would seek thee everywhere, 
Treat thee with the kindest care, 
And thy form appear more bright 
Than an angel's in his sight. 
Oh ! how often he would bless thee, 
Sing thy praise, with flies caress thee! 
Then there would not be in nature 
Half so well-beloved a creature. 
But his kindness to repay, 
Thou must spin both night and day 
Thy golden thread without an end, 
Or he'd cease to be thy friend ! 
For interest is the moving spring 
Which rules the beggar and the king. 
No matter whether young or old, 
All worship at the shrine of gold ; 
And to the yellow idol nod — 
Aye! love it better than their God ! 



THE MOSQUITO. 

11 Watermelons and tomatoes, 
Apple-jack and sweet potatoes, 
Spaniards, sandflies, and mosquitoes." 

— Jersey Productions. 

Busy, little wandering sprite, 
Teasing, teasing through the night ; 
Who has not heard thy buzzing flight ? 

And felt thy sting? 
Thou would'st as soon a beggar bite 

As lord or king. 



4 o RURAL POEMS. 

Distinctions arc unknown to thee, 

Professor of phlebotomy; 

Thou sparest neither bond nor free, 

Unwelcome guest ! 
Asleep thou canst not let us be, 

Thou little pest ! 

Like Doctor Allopath, thy creed, 
No matter what disease, is, bleed; 
And kill or cure, (?) he must be feed ; 

But as for thee, 
Thy charge is very small, indeed : 

One drop 's thy fee ! 

No learned physician could design 
A lancet or a tube like thine ; 
Or yet construct a probe so fine, 

So sharp, so good, 
To pierce a vein, when thou would'st dine 

Upon our blood. 

But like a thief, afraid to stray 

Abroad, thou best hid away 

In some dark corner all the day, 

Shunning the light ; 
Then sneaking out in search of prey, 

Like him, at night. 

In autumn night scarce down I sit, 
Ere thou around my head doth flit ; 
I strike and strike, but cannot hit, 

I cannot catch thee ; 
But oft exclaim, when thou hast bit, 

" The devil fetch thee !" 

Oh ! that I could upon thee seize ! 
No hungry lawyer grabbing fees 
Would tighter his poor client squeeze,. 

Vile irritator ! 
What art thou made for but to tease, 

Thou aggravator ! 



RURAL POEMS. 

If Job, renowned for being so meek, 
Could live beside a Jersey creek, 
And feel thy sharp, bloodthirsty beak, 

He would knock under, 
And lose his patience in a week — 

He would, by thunder ! 

But winter will soon lay thee low ; 

Thou canst not stand the frost and snow ; 

And when they come, full well I know, 

Thou canst not tease me : 
I long to see thy overthrow, 

For that would please me ! 



THE WHIP-POOR-WILL.* 

When the feathered songsters of the day 

Have all retired to rest; 
And rosy tints adorn the sky, 

As Sol sinks in the west ; 
And night her sable mantle throws 

O'er woodland, hill, and dale, 
Thy well-known voice, at evening's close, 

Re-echoes through the vale. ' 

Down in the swamp, where ills malign 

Are lurking night and morn, 
In concert thousand voices join, 

And the bull-frog sounds his horn. 
But still thy voice on the evening breeze, 

Floats on from hill to hill, 
As thou glidest behind the forest trees, 

Repeating, Whip-poor-will ! 

* Capri miilgus vociferus. 



42 RURAL POEMS. 

The emperor-nioth, with downy wings, 

(Omcs forth at the twilight hour; 
And the fire-fly its puny lantern brings 

To light the evening-flower.* 
But near to the ground, in a zig-zag flight, 

Thou roamest o'er vale and hill, 
With scarcely a pause through the sultry night, 

Repeating, Whip-poor-will ! 

When the sparkling stars begin to fade 

Before the morning ray, 
Thou hidest in the leafy shade, 

To sleep the livelong day. 
And when the summer flowers decay — 

Thou knowest well the time — 
There is a Power directs thy way, 

To some more genial clime. 



THE HUMMING-BIRD. 

The humming-bird darts to-and-fro, 

So lovely to behold ! 
Plumes varied as the rainbow, 

And bright as burnished gold. 

It comes to us in summer hours, 

When Nature's face is gay, 
And sports about from flower to flower, 

Swift as the passing ray. 

It hangs suspended in the air, 

So wonderful to see ; 
So small, so beautiful, so fair ; 

Scarce larger than a bee ! 

* The evening primrose {Oenothera biennis) only unfolds after 
sunset its beautiful yellow blosoms, which continue but one day. 



RURAL POEMS. 43 

The nectar of the choicest flowers 

Supplies its daily food; 
It builds its nest in fragrant bowers, 

And rears its tiny brood. 

But ere the rude Boreal train 

Brings biting winds and snow, 
It leaves us for those climes again, 

Where fragrant spices grow; 

Where passion-flower and jessamine 

Around the branches cling — 
Would that my life was passed like thine, 

'Midst one continual spring! 



A WINTER SCENE. 

The stream is firmly ice-bound; 

The old mill-wheel is still; 
The snow is swiftly drifting 

Through valley, over hill : 

And hard the ground is frozen ; 

The sky is overcast ; 
And through the dreary forest 

Fiercely howls the chilling blast: 

Where do the birds find shelter ? 

Where do the rabbits stay ? 
God help the poor and needy: 

It is a bitter day ! 



44 RURAL POEMS. 



SUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY. 

The sun arose as brightly ; 

The flowers bloomed as fair ; 
The fragrant magnolia 

Perfumed the morning air; 
The wood-thrush sang as merrily; 

As loudly hummed the bee ; 
And butterflies, from flower to flower, 

Were sporting o'er the lea : 

The spring as freely bubbled up ; 

The stream as swiftly run ; 
Beside the brook the speckled snake 

Lay basking in the sun ; 
Half hidden 'mid the splatterdocks, 

The turtle crawling slow ; 
And dragon-flies, above the reeds, 

Were darting to-and-fro : 

The ants were busy toiling ; 

The crow was on the wing ; 
The spiteful yellow-jack abroad, 

And hornet with his sting; 
The grasshopper skipped o'er the grass, 

Wherein the field-mouse play'd ; 
And from the wood the tree-frog's voice 

Re-echoed through the glade : 

The lizard sported on the bank, 

Beneath the sun's warm beam; 
The watchful crane was fishing 

On the margin of the stream ; 
Around the twittering swallow flew ; 

The rye waved in the breeze ; 
The cow and sheep had sought the shade 

Beneath the lofty trees : — 



RURAL POEMS. 45 

And thus, all nature's works went on 

(Mysterious to me !) 
The same as on another day, 

As far as I could see : 
Mankind (thought I) may labor cease, 

And call the Sab bath blest ; 
But nature no distinction makes, 
^ And knows no day of rest ! 



MY CREED. 

There is a little rural dell, 
Where I in summer love to dwell 

In solitude alone ; 
And there beside a bubbling spring, 
I sit as happy as a king, 

Upon a moss-clad throne. 

The climbing vine perfumes the air, 
And floral gems bloom here and there, 

Which art can not excel ; 
And close beside my shady nook 
O'erhung with trees, a shallow brook 

Runs winding through the dell. 

Where Sol can through the branches gleam 
Upon the surface of the stream, 

The sunbeams seem to dance ; 
Who could a scene so fair survey 
With reasoning mind, and calmly say, 

It merely came by chance ! 

The more of nature's works I see, 
More wonderful they are to me, 
And prove a grand design ! 



46 RURAL POEMS. 

The puny moss that decks the glade, 
The dewdrop on the grassy blade, 
Proclaim a power divine ! 

The atheist may a God deny ; 
But nature echoes in reply, 

u Frail creature of an hour ! 
There is not skill in human art, 
Or power in science to impart 

The fragrance to a flower." 

Of things above or things below, 
The very wisest do not know 

The scope of nature's plan : 
God needs no help — almighty He ; 
Therefore, our earthly aim should be 

To aid our fellow-man ! 




SONGS AND SATIRES. 



PROGRESS. 



Arise in the morn, on thy mission go; 
Care not for the censure of friend or foe ; 
Be firm and fear not, let come what may; 
Remember, the world was not made in a day ! 
Engraved on the rock, where for ages may stand, 
All hail to Progress in every land ! 

Mankind for ages have languished in chains ; 
Idleness eats what industry gains ; 
Misery cries, " Shall it always be so ?" 
Justice, though blind, firmly answers, ''No!" 
Systems so vile cannot always stand ; 
Virtue shall triumph in every land ! 

Hope on and pray on, and work, one and all! 
Each little helps, be it ever so small ; 
Atoms form mountains together combined ; 
Nature progresses, and why not mankind? 
Truth is eternal and always will stand ; 
Help to diffuse it through every land ! 

47 



4 8 SONGS AND SA TIR ES. 



THE OLD BIRTH-PLACE. 

I have been our old birth-place to view, Kate, 

Where in childhood together we play'd ; 
But I scarcely the old village knew, Kate, 

So great is the change time has made. 
I felt — and it grieves me to say — Kate, 

As a stranger amid the gay throng ; 
For old friends have all passed away, Kate, 

Since you and I, dearest, were young. 

I wandered all through the old place, Kate, 

And anxiously sought, but in vain, 
Some of the old land-marks to trace, Kate, 

But not one was found to remain! 
The cottage in which we were born, Kate, 

And around which the jessamine clung, 
Has crumbled and fallen to earth, Kate, 

Since you and I, dearest, were young. 

The school-house that stood on the hill, Kate, 

And the little stone-church, near by, 
Have both disappeared ; and the mill, Kate, 

Is gone, and the mill-stream is dry ; 
And the pole that stood on the green, Kate, 

On which the old flag proudly hung, 
Is no longer there to be seen, Kate, 

Since you and I, dearest, were young. 

I sought the old scenes, one by one, Kate ; 

But what more than all me distress' d, 
Was to find the old grave-yard was gone, Kate, 

Not even the dead left at rest : 
And the wood, where we once used to play, Kate, 

And list to the wood-robin's song, 
Has ruthlessly been swept away, Kate, 

Since you and I, dearest, were young. 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 49 

But let us not sorrow embrace, Kate, 

Or sigh for the things passed away ; 
Above there 's a far better place, Kate, 

And one that will never decay ; 
Our object must be to get there, Kate, 

Away from this world's busy throng ; 
For time has chang'd everything here, Kale, 

Since you and I, dearest, were young. 



THINK AND LABOR. 

Learn to think and learn to labor : 

Better to wear out than rust : 
Help yourself and aid your neighbor : 

On your own exertions trust! 
Though you may progress but slowly, 

Toiling on from year to year ; 
Though you may be poor and lowly, 

Be a man and persevere ! 

Now 's the time, be up and doing ! 

Time once past none can recall : 
Sloth and ignorance lead to ruin : 

Think and labor, one and all! 
Monuments of stone will crumble, 

Fall like leaves before the blast ; 
But simple truths, however humble, 

Will, through countless ages, last ! 

Knowledge is a crystal fountain ; 

All who choose may freely drink : 
Grains of sand will form a mountain : 

Learn to labor and to think! 
Learning dwells not in a college : 

Use your hands and use your brain : 
Were mankind possessed witli knowledge, 

How long would a tyrant reign ! 



5 o SONGS AND S. I 7 IRES. 



BE FIRM AND PERSEVERE. 

Hail ! men of action, men of thought, 

In every clime and age ; 
Whose mighty minds have wonders wrought, 

And brightened history's page : 
Their names now as a beacon stand, 

The sons of toil to cheer ; 
And bid them still, with heart and hand, 

Be firm and persevere ! 

When love, truth, wisdom, justice, art, 

With science are combined, 
How many blessings they impart, 

To benefit mankind : 
They lessen labor, cheapen bread, 

Wherever they appear ; 
And bid the lowly raise their head, 

Be firm and persevere ! 

But war and ignorance never yet, 

In any age or place, 
Conferred the smallest benefit 

Upon the human race : 
Nor titled wealth a hand stretched forth 

To aid through life's career, 
Or bid the man of humble birth, 

Be firm and persevere ! 

Thy genius, Smeaton, will be shown, 

And mariners bless thy name, 
As long as far-fam'd Eddystone 

Sends forth its warning flame : 
Though lightning flash and tempest rave, 

Thy handiwork stands there ; 
And cries amidst the surging waves, 

Be firm and persevere ! 



SONGS AND SAT/RES. 51 

And where there is a railroad found, 

Or locomotive run, 
The whistling steam shall there resound 

Thy fame, George Stephenson. 
The Geordy and the Davy lamp, 

The miner's heart shall cheer, 
And bid him, 'midst the fell fire-damp, 

Be firm and persevere ! 

Hull, Fulton, Fitch and Smyington, 

Caus, Pepin, Savery, Watt ; 
Whilst steamships on both oceans run, 

Will never be forgot : 
Though states and empires pass away, 

These names will still appear ; 
And to all future ages say, 

Be firm and persevere ! 

And Franklin, who first brought the fire 

Of Jove, down from the sky ; 
And Morse, who made along a wire, 

A thought like lightning fly ! 
May telegraphs the world combine, 

And peace its head uprear ; 
And bid mankind in friendship join, 

Be firm and persevere ! 



PUT YOUR SHOULDER TO THE WHEEL. 

Shame upon the cowardly vaunter, 

Who would like a statue stand 
Useless ; in the hour of danger, 

Raising neither voice nor hand ; 
Lost to every sense of manhood, 

Deaf to reason's loud appeal — 
He that would surmount oppression, 

Puts his shoulder to the wheel ! 



52 SONGS AND SATIRES. 

Little words and little actions, 

When they are together joined, 
Form a moving power as mighty 

And resistless as the wind. 
Thoughts will go where armies cannot ; 

Pierce the breast, though clad with steel : 
Speak out boldly, act sincerely — 

Put your shoulder to the wheel ! 

Nature's laws are all progressive ; 

Time and tide for none will stay ; 
Drops of water gently falling, 

Wear the hardest rock away. 
Never say, I cannot do it ; 

Be a man, hear, see, and feel ; 
When a little help is needed — 

Put your shoulder to the wheel ! 



WILLING HEARTS AND HANDS UNITED. 

Never put off till to-morrow, 

That which may be done to-day ; 
Wait not for the good time coming, 

Men lose courage by delay. 
Though much has been done already, 

More remains as yet undone : 
Willing hearts and hands united, 

Have a thousand victories won ! 

From a word in kindness spoken, 

Who can tell what good may flow? 
Mighty oaks in field and forest, 

From the little acorns grow. 
Better far to wear, than rust out ; 

Help to do what should be done : 
Willing hands and hearts united, 

Have a thousand victories won ! 



SOXGS AXD SATIRES. 53 

Be your weapons, truth and courage, 

And let candor be your aim; 
Act consistent, speak out boldly ; 

Care not, fear not, who may blame ! 
Let the star of Hope, before you 

As a beacon, guide you on : 
Willing hearts and hands united, 

Have a thousand victories won ! 



ROOM FOR ALL. 

Let old issues be forgotten ; 

To tradition bid adieu ; 
And those systems old and rotten, 

Be replaced by something new : 
There has been too much transgression 

By the great as well as small ; 
In the world, without oppression, 

There is room enough for all ! 

Therefore, cease all useless cavil j 

Let more brotherhood be shown ; 
Should a freeman fear a rival, 

With the power to hold his own ? 
Hatred cannot stop progression, 

Or a past event recall .; 
In the world, without oppression, 

There is room enough for all ! 

Everywhere let christian kindness 

Scatter hope and peace around ; 
Party zeal, sectarian blindness, 

Are a curse wherever found : 
Those unfaithful to their mission, 

In the end are doomed to fall ; 
Why should there be such oppression, 

When there 's room enough for all ? 



54 SONGS AND SATIRES. 



UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD. 

From the early dawn of morning 

Till the closing of the day, 
Helping to enrich another; 

Toiling hard for little pay ! 
Living, in a pent-up alley, 

On the coarsest kind of food ; 
Whilst the rich man lives in luxury — 

Is this human brotherhood ? 

Better far to be a savage, 

In the desert roaming free, 
Than to live a life degraded, 

And a mere machine to be ! 
But, cry preachers, be contented, 

It is only for your good ; 
Man was made to toil and suffer — 

Is this human brotherhood ? 

Vain it is to talk of freedom, 

Whilst distinctions thus remain : 
Slaves of wealth are slaves as truly 

As the slave that wears the chain 1 
Though God's earth was made for all men, 

Owning not a single rood, 
Robbed of all, and blamed for toiling — 

Is this human brotherhood ? 

Arouse yourselves, ye toiling millions ! 

Join together in your might ; 
Cast-off sleep ; be up and doing, 

If you would obtain your right ! 
And oppression sweep before you, 

Like the torrent of a flood : 
Be your watchword, truth and justice — 

Universal brotherhood ! 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 55 



UP OR DOWN. 

All hail ! to him who bravely dares 

To fight through thick and thin ; 
And laugh at Fortune, fickle jade! 

No matter lose or win : 
Who has opinions of his own, 

Regardless who may frown ; 
And speaks out boldly what he thinks, 

Let him be up or down. 

To tell the truth, has e^ter been 

A very dangerous thing ; 
For facts will pierce the stubborn breast 

As sharp as any sting ; 
A lie may pass, but simple truth 

Will make the calmest frown : 
Who freely tells it is a man, 

Let him be up or down. 

Away ! away with him who'd cringe 

To power, to wealth, to fame ; 
To call so mean a thing a man, 

Would desecrate the name. 
A cur may lick the hand that smites, 

And fear a master's frown ; 
But man should be above a brute, 

Let him be up or down. 

In time the lowest down may rise ; 

In time the highest fall ; 
Without oppression, in the world 

There 's room enough for all. 
A curse on him who would oppress 

Or on a poor man frown, 
Be he a President or King, 

Let him be up or down. 



56 SONGS A. XI) SATIRES. 



THERE'S A BETTER DAY A-COMING, 
i;\ AND-BY. 

When sorrow comes upon us, let us hope for the best ; 

It is useless and foolish to complain ; 
Though the sun 's behind a cloud when sinking in the west, 

To-morrow it will brightly rise again : 
Every bitter hath its sweet, let the world say as it will ; 

And we can make things better if we try : 
For fortune with her wheel is never standing still — 

There 's a better day a-coming, by-and-by ! 

Though poverty 's despised, there are many clothed in rags, 

With hearts that are honest and light ; 
And more to be trusted than the miser with his bags, 

Who seldom is at rest, day or night. 
But, avoiding both extremes, with a little ready cash, 

We may often help the needy on the sly ; 
For to have a friend in need, is to have a friend indeed — 

There 's a better time a-coming, by-and-by ! 

If men would only practice what they preach so much 
about, 

What a great reformation there would be ! 
For a word without a deed is too often blotted out, 

Like a name upon the sand by the sea. 
If each would do his part, how much good there might 
be done, 

And the tears dried from many an eye ; 
For little acts of kindness will help the weary on — 

There 's a better day a-coming, by-and-by ! 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 5 7 



THE HARDY SONS OF TOIL. 

The world owes not its progress 

To the wealthy or the great ; 
Pope, president, or monarch, 

Though they rule and reign in state ; 
Or to a standing army, 

Whose trade is to despoil ; 
But to the brain and muscle 

Of the hardy sons of toil ! 

Look at the line of railroad, 

As it stretches o'er the plain ; 
Gaze on the fleet of vessels, 

As they sail across the main ; 
And scan the thrifty farmer, 

As he cultivates the soil ; 
And behold the mighty doings 

Of the hardy sons of toil ! 

The world 's a busy workshop, 

And there 's much remains to do ; 
Though millions there are toiling, 

There 's room for me and you ; 
And we each may add a little 

To the monumental pile, 
Which for ages hath been building 

By the hardy sons of toil ! 

As friends, unite together, 

The great, as well as small ; 
From the highest to the lowest, 

There is work enough for all : 
Though the poet may seem useless, 

By his lamp of burning oil, 
He may pen a verse that 's cheering 

To the hardy sons of toil ! 

E 



58 SONGS AND SA TlAES* 



WORK AND THINK. 

Work, boys, work ! It is useless to be talking ; 

By labor not by prayer nations thrive. 
If bees in summer hours, 
Only buzz'd around the flowers, 

There never would be honey in the hive. 

Think, boys, think ! The mind improves by thinking, 

And freely criticises everything; 
Untrammeled by tradition, 
Not chained by superstition, 

Regardless of pope, president, or king. 

On, boys, on ! The world expands before you, 
And Nature, the true goddess, leads the way ; 

Over mountain and through hollow, 

Her footprints boldly follow; 

She never yet was known to lead astray. 

Courage, boys, courage ! Though bigots may assail you, 
Their curses and their prayers are in vain ; 

They may crush down by oppression, 

But they cannot stop progression 

Evolving from the hand and from the brain. 



COME LET US BE HAPPY. 

Come let us be happy ! Cast trouble away ! 

Why should we anticipate sorrow? 
Though the sun is obscured by the clouds of to-day, 

It will shine in its brightness to-morrow. 

For our lives are all checkered by sunshine and shade, 
From the rich to the poor and the humble ; 

And the fairest of flowers only blossom to fade : 
So 'tis useless and foolish to grumble. 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 59 

Then fortune may frown and our friends at us sneer, 
And the cares of the world be distressing ; 

With health and a good wife our spirits to cheer, 
No riches can buy such a blessing. 

Then let us be happy, at least while we may; 

Future cares it is foolish to borrow : 
Enjoy all the pleasures around us to-day, 

And partake of the troubles to-morrow ! 



THE GENTLE ONE AT HOME. 

I have wandered by the streamlet, 

Where the water gently flows ; 
I have rambled through the garden, 

And plucked the fragrant rose ; 
I have seen the fairest beauties 

Of England, France, and Rome; 
But my heart was ever constant 

To the gentle one at home ! 

In the hottest of the battle, 

Where the bullets thickly flew, 
I could not think of danger 

For thinking, love, of you ; 
In sickness and in sorrow, 

Amidst the deepest gloom, 
The thought would ever cheer me 

Of the gentle one at home ! 

Should fortune smile upon me, 

And give me wealth and fame ; 
Whatever be the changes, 

I shall love you still the same : 
If safely I return, love, 

I nevermore will roam, 
But love and live contented 

With my gentle one at home ! 



6o SONGS AND SATIRES 



THE BELLE OF THE VALE. 

It seems but a day since I roamed as a boy, 

Where the stream winds its way through the dale ; 

And met a fair maid with a charming blue eye, 
Lovely Mary, the belle of the vale. 

To tell how I felt it were useless to try, 
Quite assured all my efforts would fail ; 

But I faintly remember of breathing a sigh, 
As I gazed on the belle of the vale. 

My heart went pit-pat as, dear Mary, I said, 

Why ramble alone in the dale? 
She blushed as she silently hung down her head > 

The beautiful belle of the vale ! 

At last, by agreement, together we sat 
Beneath a broad chestnut's green shade : 

Though years have Mown past, I have never forgot 
The time we first met in the glade. 

We now are grown old ; but live happy and free, 

And often repeat the fond tale, 
Of the time we sat under the old chestnut tree, 

Which stood by the stream in the vale. 



THE ONE WHO THINKS OF ME. 

Though to-day is cold and stormy, 

It is useless to despair; 
Whilst there 's love and hope to cheer us, 

And to-morrow may be fair : 
But in sorrow or in gladness, 

Wheresoever I may be, 
There is one, I need not name her 7 

Who always thinks of me I 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 61 

Though riches may give pleasure 

And luxury in store ; 
There is love as well as friendship, 

In the dwellings of the poor ; 
For there 's a spot that 's tender, 

In the heart of bond and free ; 
And there 's a face that 's smiling, 

Who always thinks of me ! 

God bless the name of woman ! 

With her tenderness and love, 
She can soothe us in our sorrow, 

Like an angel from above. 
May she always stand beside us, 

And ever helpful be ; 
Like the one I love so dearly, 

Who always thinks of me ! 



ONE KISS, AND NOW GOOD-NIGHT. 

Fond memory oft will backward glide, 

When I, a child so free, 
At evening, fondly stood beside 

A tender mother's knee ; 
With gentle hand she stroked my head, 

With feelings of delight ; 
As with a loving voice she said : 

One kiss, and now good-night < 

But pleasures, like the flowers that blow, 

Alas ! too quickly fade ; 
For, in the silent grave-yard now 

My mother dear is laid ! 
But though her form has passed away, 

I still with fond delight 
Believe I hear her softly say : 

One kiss, and now good-night ! 



62 SONGS AND SATIRES. 



WHERE THERE'S A WILL, THERE'S A WAY. 

Bad workmen will ever find fault with their tools, 

And idleness ever complain ; 
But he seldom grumbles who acts like a man, 

And works with the hand and the brain : 
Things may go against him, but harder he toils, 

Assured there will yet come a day 
When perseverance will meet with success — 

Where there 's a will, there 's a way ! 

The ladder of fame is both rugged and steep, 

And he who would climb must not stop; 
But manfully mount, regardless of fear, 

Though calumny sit on the top : 
The rounds at the bottom are hardest to grasp, 

But fearlessly make the essay, 
And bravely push forward though doubters may laugh — 

Where there 's a will, there 's a way. 

The largest of rivers, so swift in its course, 

Is fed with the small drops of rain ; 
The strongest of cables begins with a link, 

Though hundreds of links form the chain; 
A mole-hill, though small, would a mountain become 

By adding a little each day : 
With mind, time, and labor all things may be done — 

Where there 's a will, there 's a way ! 

Be up and be doing, if fame you would win, 

Let nothing your ardor restrain ; 
Remember, the world was not made in a day, 

And if you should fail, try again ! 
Let each do his best ; nothing more is required ; 

Regard not what scoffers may say ; 
Be honest and truthful, and never forget — 

Where there 's a will, there 's a way. 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 63 



MY LOVE'S GRAVE. 

Gather wild flowers from the dell; 

Woodbine sweet and violet blue ; 
Strew them gently o'er the grave 
Of her who loved so true : 
Under the cypress shade 
My true love is laid, 
Calmly sleeping. 

On the sacred hallowed spot 

Let no footstep rudely tread ; 
Plant a lily at her feet, 
And a white rose at her head : 
Under the cypress shade 
My true love is laid, 
Calmly sleeping. 

Bring the fairest ocean shells 

To bind the turf that wraps her clay ; 
Sylvan nymph and fairy sprite, 
Hover round her grave by day : 
Under the cypress shade 
My true love is laid, 
Calmly sleeping. 

Guardian angels of the night 

Around her fair form vigils keep, 
Till the summons from the sky 

Awakes the virtuous from their sleep : 
Under the cypress shade 
My true love is laid, 
Calmly sleeping. 



64 JiONGS AND SATIRES. 



THE POTENT LITTLE PEN. 

Let warriors praise the sword and gun, 

The powder and the ball ; 
But there's a little instrument 

More potent than them all. 
When by the skilful wielded, 

It cuts both far and near, 
And is dreaded more by tyrants 

Than the sabre or the spear. 

The bravest heart has trembled 

At the power it has displayed ; 
For it has achieved more victories, 

Than the soldier's trusty blade. 
It has overawed the monarch ; 

And has shook the papal chair, 
With a force more sharp and potent 

Than the sabre or the spear. 

Though rulers try to curb it, 

Their efforts are in vain ; 
For it ever was too powerful 

For an army to restrain. 
And to touch it, there is danger ; 

For it often wounds severe, 
And leaves a scar more lasting 

Than the sabre or the spear. 

Like the good and faithful sower, 

It has scattered seeds around ; 
And wherever they have fallen, 

They have fertilized the ground. 
It has aided human progress, 

Like the peaceful old ploughshare ; 
And has done more good for nations 

Than the sabre or the spear. 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 65 

It has been the faithful servant 

Of the beggar and the sage j 
It has given us the record 

Of mankind from age to age; 
It has helped both art and science, 

And has taught good-will to men ; 
Be peace for aye the mission 

Of the potent little pen ! 



BLEST IS THE MAN WHO HAS A GOOD WIFE. 

The crusty old bachelor may growl as he will, 

The peevish old maid tell her story ; 
Let such useless ciphers return to a cell, 

And live all alone in their glory. 
The ugly and mean may despise married life, 

Who never its comforts have known ; 
But blest is the man who has a good wife, 

And a neat little home of his own ! 

There is nothing can soothe us and banish our care, 

Like a wife that is peaceful and true ; 
But a bad one will drive a poor man to despair, 

For the worst of all things is a shrew : 
Thin lips and sharp nose are true emblems of strife, 

Be sure let such women alone ; 
But blest is the man with a sweet-tempered wife, 

And a neat little home of his own ! 

If husband and wife would tale-tellers avoid, 

One-half of their quarrels would cease ; 
For one in the other must strictly confide, 

If they wish for contentment and peace. 
To give and to take, is the maxim of life, 

As well as to show and be shown ; 
May every good husband possess a good wife, 

And a neat little home of his own ! 



66 SO.VGS AND S. IV J A'/iS. 



THE HAMMER. 

The pen's a mighty instrument, 

When used by skilful hands, 
The spade more useful is to man, 

In tilling of the land. 
But still another tool there is, 

Which is of greater worth, 
And one that truly might be styled 

The father of them both. 

Without it there would be no ships, 

To sail upon the main ; 
No plough, no loom, no engine made, 

No anchor and no chain ; 
No axe to clear the forest, boys, 

No soldier's trusty blade, 
No wedge, no lever, and no screw ; 

In fact, no iron trade. 

It crushes down the hardest steel, 

By steam and skill controlled ; 
It forges out the massive shaft, 

And beats the finest gold. 
The horseshoe forms and drives the nail, 

Upon the anvil rings, 
And has done more to aid mankind 

Than emperors and kings. 

It 's wielded by the brawny arm, 

Where sunlight never shines, 
By nature's greatest noblemen, 

In workshop and in mines. 
We see its uses everywhere, 

Let it be great or small ; 
The hammer, boys, the hammer is 

The greatest tool of all ! 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 67 

LOVE CANNOT BE BOUGHT. 

It is useless to tell me that love can be bought ! 

A love that is truly sincere, 
Comes forth from the heart of affection unsought, 

As free as the sorrowful tear ! 
A feeling it is which we cannot control ; 

A passion no time can restrain ; 
As true as the needle that turns to the pole : 

And so it will ever remain. 

It knoweth no country, no color, no creed ; 

Unbiased by fame and by gain : 
For it springs up as chaste as the flower from the seed, 

And so it will ever remain ! 

Be it cottage or palace, it enters the door, 

An angel of peare, though unseen ; 
And dwelleth as pure in the breast of the poor, 

As it does in the heart of a queen ! 
A bond of endearment with young and with old ; 

Unchanged till death rends it in twain : 
It cannot be bought and it cannot be sold ; 

And so it will ever remain ! 



PITY THE FALLEN ONE. 

Pity the fallen one ; speak to her soothingly : 

Kind words are better than frowns when you meet. 
Think of how many are forced by necessity 
Either to starve or to wander the street ! 
Pity the fallen one, pity the fallen ! 
Kind words are better than frowns when you meet. 

Virtue oft falls before hunger and poverty ; 

Vice in the rich has no reason to show : 
Pity the fallen one ; speak to her soothingly : 

Kind words oft raise up the wretched and low. 



68 SONGS AND SAT1RHS. 



DO YOU LOVE ME AS YOU DID WHEN I WAS 
YOUNG? 

The brightest day in summer hath an ending ; 

The fairest of the flowers bloom to fade ; 
But the heart that loveth truly ever clingeth 

Around us, both in sunshine and in shade. 
The fickle, like the moon, are always changing ; 

The constant, ever sun-like, moves along; 
And I ask you now, with candor, will you tell me, 

Do you love me as you did when I was young? 

Our courting days still fondly I remember, 

When you sang to me that charming little song ; 

You called it, "We have lived and loved together" — 
Do you love me as you did when I was young? 

I know too well time makes an alteration, 

And old things give their places to the new ; 
But the proverb says it 's not all gold that glitters, 

Though it may seem as tempting to the view. 
For forty years on life's rough road united, 

We have traveled on amidst the busy throng ; 
But I ask you, now old age has come upon us, 

Do you love me as you did when I was young ? 



BLANKS AND PRIZES. 

Like the pilgrim of old, I have roamed to-and-fro, 
Heard maxims both foolish and wise; 

But ever have found, 'midst the high or the low, 
There were always two blanks to a prize ! 

A drum, in a band, always makes the most sound, 
And a hypocrite makes the most noise ; 

But in church and in state it has ever been found, 
There were seventy-five blanks to a prize ! 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 69 

If to settle a grievance, to law we resort, 

What quibbles and cavils arise ! 
But, one thing is certain, in every court 

There are eighty-five blanks to a prize ! 

With money to spend, we have friends by the score, 

To flatter us, fawn, and advise ; 
But how soon we find, if we chance to be poor, 

There are ninety-five blanks to a prize ! 

There are other things, too, in a journey through life, 

Which the dullest may see if he tries j 
But the risk is greatest in choosing a wife, 

There are ninety-nine blanks to a prize ! 



SMILE ON ME ONCE AGAIN. 

Come smile once more upon me, 

And cheer my heart again : 
Why should you coldly shun me, 

And treat me with disdain ? 
And if I have offended, 
One favor I implore : 
Forgive, and make me happy, 
Come smile on me once more ! 
One gentle word in kindness 

Let me not ask in vain : 

And if you can forget me, 

Smile on me once again. 

With eyes so brightly beaming, 

And face so fair and free, 
I ever shall adore them, 

Wherever I may be. 
The heart that loveth truly 

Will ever true remain ; 
If we must part forever, 

Smile on me once again ! 



7o SONGS AND SATIRES. 



MIGHT MAKETH RIGHT. 

Liberty, what a delusion art thou ! 

A phantom alone of the brain ; 
A shadow mankind has for ages pursued ; 

And still are pursuing in vain. 
But in spite of men's follies the world still moves, 

And nations, like men, rise and fall ; 
And might maketh right all over the world — 

The weakest must go to the wall ! 

Equality, does it exist upon earth? 

If so, in what nation or clime? 
Distinctions have always been known amongst men, 

In ancient and modern time. 
The strongest have ever proclaimed themselves right, 

And forced their opinions on all ; 
For might maketh right all over the world — 

The weakest must go to the wall ! 

Fraternity, let but the loud blast of war 

Re-echo, and where art thou known ? 
Thy bond is as frail as the delicate flower 

That dies ere the summer is flown ; 
Thy great adoration for peace and good-will 

Becometh exceedingly small ; 
For might maketh right all over the world — 

The weakest must go to the wall ! 

Professions and promises are very frail, 

And high-sounding words are but wind ; 
Self-interest in this world, as well as the next, 

Is the motive that governs mankind. 
If the cloak of deception, the hypocrite's mask, 

From every pretender would fall, 
What a system of swindling there would be laid bare — 

But the weakest must go to the wall ! 






SONGS A ND SA TIRES. 7 1 

NUTTING IN THE PARK. 

Air — "Auld Lang Sync. ' ' 

Of all the time throughout the year 

From early spring till fall, 
September is the nutting month, 

We love it best of all ; 
For then we have a holiday, 

From early dawn till dark, 
And with our teachers spend a day 

A-nutting in the Park. 

A-nutting in the Park with friends, 

A-nutting in the Park ; 
We '11 not forget the time we met 

A-nutting in the Park. 

From dale to hill, at our free will, 

Throughout the wide domain, 
We run with glee from tree to tree, 

No king can us restrain : 
A happy band of scholars all, 

As blithesome as the lark, 
In youthful play we spend the day 

A-nutting in the Park. 

At evening, when our sport is done, 

As home we wend our way, 
Let us all hope to meet again 

As friends next nutting day ; 
And if we strive to do what \s right, 

We shall not miss the mark, 
But live as happily as when 

A-nutting in the Park. 



72 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

WELCOME TO ALL. 

A CENTENNIAL 15ALLAD. 

From the East and the West, from the North and the 
South, 

Come join in the great enterprise : 
A glorious reunion of brothers once more ; 

And let birth-day anthems arise. 
Beneath the old flag that our forefathers loved ; 

Untarnished by rent or by stain ; 
In council as firm and as brave as of yore ; 

In friendship united again. 

Come join us in friendship, the old and the young; 

Come join us, the great and the small ; 
Our greeting is, welcome to rich and to poor; 

Come on, there is room for us all ! 

In this age of progress, communion of thought 

Is traversing every land : 
Let feuds be forgotten, prejudice cease, 

And reason assume the command : 
We make no distinction of country or creed ; 

Let all for the banquet prepare : 
A tribute to labor and learning we pay, 

And all in the honor may share. 

From Iceland, the cold, rugged land of the Dane, 

To India, the land of the sun ; 
From Pekin to Athens, from Sydney to Rome, 

In the cause of progression, come on ! 
Instruction and civilization our aim ; 

Our contest a trial of skill ; 
And though all are rivals in science and art, 

Our motto is, peace and good-will. 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 73 

Above us the Goddess of Peace spreads her wings, 

And smiling upon us looks down ; 
And Fame, with a wreath of fresh laurel, awaits 

All ready the victor to crown. 
Come join us and celebrate our natal day ; 

And partake of our homes and our fare ; 
All nations are welcome ; as equals we meet ; 

There is room for us all, and to spare! 



WOMAN IS THE BEST OF ALL. 

What is man without a woman ? 

Like a hermit everywhere ; 
Lonely, homeless, and uncared for, 

With no one his heart to cheer 1 
She can soothe us in our sorrow ; 

Gently lift us if we fall ; 
Other friends may cling around us, 

Woman is the best of all ! 

What though she may sometimes chide us, 

For the trifling faults we do ; 
Firmer still her hope surrounds us, 

If our love for her is true. 
Who is there with home that's happy, 

Would a single life recall ? 
Other friends may cling around us, 

Woman is the best of all ! 

Treat her as you would be treated, 

Though you may an imperfection see : 
Bless the name of wife and mother 

Wheresoever they may be. 
Cheerless, cold is home without them ; 

Lowly cottage, stately hall : 
Other friends may cling around us, 

Woman is the best of all ! 



74 SONGS AND SATIRES. 

OUR EMBLEM. 

A PATRIOTIC SONG. 



The North has its star, but there 's one in the West, 

And brighter by far is its ray ; 
A radiance it throws around Liberty's shrine ; 

And its brightness will never decay. 
Beloved by the young and adored by the old, 

As the greatest, the grandest, the best ! 
The world hath its planets, but greater than all, 

Our emblem, the Star of the West. 

The lightning may flash, the thunder may crash, 
And the storm-king the sky overcast ; 

But one star will shine until time is no more, 
Our emblem, the Star of the West. 

A century ago, when the nation was young, 

And struggling her power to expand, 
Down in old Virginia the star first arose, 

When kingcraft ruled over the land. 
And soon it was greeted with love and delight, 

As a boon to a people oppressed ; 
And hailed as a messenger sent from above, 

Our emblem, the Star of the West. 

And when desolation spread over the land, 

In the dark days when men's souls were tried ; 
As an anchor of hope, the star was still there, 

A beacon to cheer and to guide. 
And there it remained when the victory was won, 

The greatest, the grandest, the best ; 
And to-day on our banner as brightly still shines, 

Our emblem, the Star of the West. 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 75 



GOOD-BYE ! 

Good-bye ! You are going to leave me ; 

It grieves me to bid you adieu ; 
Don't let the old place be forgotten ; 

I'll ever be constant to you ! 
Though a face you may see that is fairer, 

When in other countries you roam, 
You will not find a heart that 's sincerer 

Than the one you are leaving at home ! 

Good-bye ! You are going to leave me ; 

I hope you'll be happy and gay; 
You promised to never deceive me : 

Will you think of me when far away ? 

As fondly we gazed on each other, 

And both tried to speak, but in vain, 
I knew she had something to tell me, 

If she could her feelings restrain ; 
Then grasping my hand with emotion, 

And dropping a tear as she said, 
"Good-bye ! In the land of the stranger, 

Remember the promise you made!" 

One kiss and embrace, and we parted 

With feeling I can not portray ; 
But the scene, and the words that were spoken, 

Are fresh in my memory to-day j 
Though years have flown past since the parting, 

I still the fond hope entertain, 
Back to the old homestead returning, 

And meet her I love, once again ! 



76 SONGS AND SATIRES. 



"EVERY DOG WILL HAVE HIS DAY." 

Watch and wait a little longer ! 

Things are changing every day ; 
Every second brings it nearer ; 

Time and tide for none will stay : 
Act with zeal ; " be just and fear not ;" 

Do your duty come what may ; 
Watch and wait a little longer ; 

Every dog will have his day ! 

If thou hast a thought worth telling, 

Speak it boldly, like a man ! 
Every age has had its tyrants 

Ever since the world began : 
Still the progress has been onward 

From the dawn till evening gray ; 
Watch and wait a little longer; 

Every dog will have his day ! 

Though the world may laugh and jeer thee ; 

Brand thy name with hate, disdain ; 
Grass beneath the feet down-trodden, 

In the spring will rise again ! 
Truth at last will reign triumphant ; 

Error fall into decay ; 
Watch and wait a little longer; 

Every dog will have his day I 






SONGS AND SATIRES. 77 



CONSISTENCY. 

Consistency, thou art a jewel — 

At least so the sages have said ; 
But when nations get up a duel, 

They find more consistence in lead ! 
Men rush forth in thousands to kill — 

No tiger was ever more cruel ; 
And yet preach-up peace and good-will ! 

Consistency, thou art a jewel ! 

Then there are the good politicians, 

That talk about virtue and right ; 
But when they get into positions, 

They rob both the black and the white. 
If all such men were in Sing-Sing, 

And living on cold-water gruel, 
It would be an excellent thing — 

Consistency, thou art a jewel ! 

There 's judges and lawyers, also, 

And members who sit in the Senate, 
If the whole of the tribe were — but no, 

It perhaps would be sinful to pen it ! 
For money the law they construe 

In favor of persons that do ill ; 
Consistency hiding from view — 

For whoever yet saw the jewel ? 



78 SONGS AND SATIRES, 



A FRIEND IN THE POCKET FOR ME. 

I care not for family connections ; 

Let fops of their ancestors bawl ; 
A man may have fifty relations, 

And not find a friend in them all ! 
I won't say there are not exceptions ; 

But such things we don't often see; 
True friendship is good — when you find it ! 

But, the friend in the pocket for me ! 

Regardless of fear or of favor, 

Be candid and act like a man ; 
And as you will never be younger, 

Take all the enjoyment you can. 
The poor and the worn-out may grumble, 

Unable to join in the spree ; 
Away with such useless companions ! 

A friend in the pocket for me ! 

I scorn to be cringing or fawning 

To either the high or the low ; 
With the friend I admire I'm respected, 

And welcomed wherever I go. 
Offence to no one is intended ; 

Opinions should ever be free ; 
Let every one think as he chooses — 

But, the friend in the pocket for me ! 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 79 



OLD ENGLAND. 

Old England, old England, wherever I may roam, 

My thoughts to thee will ever cling, my own dear na- 
tive home ! 

There is a charm around thy name, which makes my 
bosom thrill : 

"Old England, with all thy faults, I dearly love thee 
still r 

The happy days I spent in thee, I never can forget ; 
Thy fertile fields and flowery dales I well remember yet ; 
The blackbird's gentle, mellow note ; the skylark's voice 

so shrill : 
"Old England, with all thy faults, I dearly love thee 

still !" 

How often have I, when a boy, in springtime, blithe 

and gay, 
Sat down upon thy primrose banks, beneath the skies 

of May, 
To listen to the cuckoo's song, beside the rippling rill : 
"Old England, with all thy faults, I dearly love thee 

still!" 

Although I never may again behold thy rocky shore, 
My heart will ever cling to thee, and love thee still the 

more ; 
Fond memory will to thee return, let me be where I 

will: 
"Old England, with all thy faults, I dearly love thee 

still!" 



8o SONGS AND SAT/RES. 



THE LAND I LOVE THE BEST. 

I fear not what the world may say, 

I care not who may blame ; 
To all mankind I freely give 

The right I proudly claim : 
To own and love my native land, 

Wherever I may be ; 
For that, of every spot on earth, 

The dearest is to me. 

The happy place of boyhood, 

To me the fairest known ; 
Ah ! who could love another land, 

And cowardly spurn his own? 
Though other climes may be as fair, 

As happy, and as free, 
My native home, of all the world, 

The dearest is to me. 



The South may have her orange groves, 

And flowers that ever blow ; 
The North, her rugged granite rocks, 

And mountains capped with snow j 
And islands with their golden sands, 

Like gems bedeck the sea : 
The cot within my native land 

The dearest is to me. 

Success to every nation ! 

May all with peace be blest ! 
And no man be afraid to say 

What land he loves the best ! 
There 's something good and bad in all, 

Whichever they may be : 
But still the land that gave me birth, 

The dearest is to me. 









SOJVGS AND SATIRES. 81 



KEEP UP THE GOOD OLD CUSTOM. 

Many joyous days there are 

Throughout the gladsome year; 
But Christmas is the merriest, 

When blest with Christmas cheer : 
Then deck the walls with evergreens, 

The cedar and the pine ; 
It was my father's custom, 

And so it shall be mine. 

And let Kriss Kingle, with his train 

Of nimble little deer, 
Come down the chimney with the toys, 

Good children's hearts to cheer ; 
And hang the Christmas gifts upon 

The cedar and the pine ; 
It was my father's custom, 

And so it shall be mine. 

The Christmas feast prepare with all 

The season does afford : 
Roast turkey, sucking pig, mince pie, 

Adorn the festive board ; 
And all around let old and young, 

In social friendship join ; 
It was my father's custom, 

And so it shall be mine. 

Hang candy on the Christmas tree, 

And all be blithe and gay ; 
And have a merry Christmas, 

And a happy New Year day ; 
And drink good health to absent friends, 

In cups of sparkling wine ; 
It was my father's custom, 

And so it shall be mine. 



8a SONGS AND SAT/RES. 



THE CHARMING LITTLE CITY BY THE SEA. 

Let those who choose repair, 

And enjoy the mountain air ; 
But the cool, refreshing sea breeze for me : 

And I love to hear the roar 

Of the breakers on the shore, 
At the charming little City by the Sea. 

On the sandy beach to roam, 

Where the billows cast their foam, 
And the wild wind is whistling so free : 

And view the rolling tide, 

And the vessels slowly glide, 
At the lovely little City by the Sea. 

To feel the ocean spray, 

On the sultry summer day, 
And sport amid the briny waves with glee, 

Is a pleasure unalloyed, 

And by all may be enjoyed, 
At the charming little City by the Sea. 



MODERN PHILOSOPHY. 

In church and in state, 

It is rule or be ruled ; 
In courtship and marriage, 

It is fool or be fooled ; 
In logic and law, 

It is nick or be nicked ; 
In gambling and trade, 

It is trick or be tricked ; 
In treaty and war, 

It is beat or be beaten ; 
In the struggle for life, 

It is eat or be eaten ! 



SONGS AND SATIRES. S$ 



THE DARKEY'S LAMENT. 

One cold winter night, in the lone, dreary street, 

An old darkey was heard to complain : 
I roam through the North, but no friendship I meet, 

And I sigh for rny old home again ! 
Ere I die let me see the log cabin once more, 

Where I lived free from sorrow and pain ; 
The home of my childhood, the place I adore ; 

Take me back to the South once again ! 

Take me back to the South, my own sunny South ; 

No friend or relation have I. 
The North is too cold ; I am wretched and old ; 

In the place I was born let me die ! 

For food, warmth, and shelter, oh, where shall I fly ? 

Must I perish upon the cold ground ? 
The blessing of freedom I fain would enjoy, 

But where can the blessing be found ? 
A lone, weary pilgrim, I seek for the shrine 

Of freedom, but seek it in vain ! 
Oh ! why did I leave my old home in the pines? 

Take me back to the South once again ! 

The vision I loved and have followed so far, 

Has vanished from me like a dream. 
The young and the healthy may love the North Star ; 

May it yet prove a blessing to them : 
But old and neglected, not one hears my prayer, 

No matter how much I complain : 
Kind Christians, take pity — if Christians ye are — 

Take me back to the South once again ! 



84 SONGS AND SAT/RES. 



WHAT I HEAR AND WHAT I SEE. 

I hear and see so many things, 

In roaming to-and-fro ; 
But there is one I always find 

No matter where I go : 

It is the same with old and young, 

In-door as well as out ; 
Which is, folks talk the most of that 

They know the least about ! 

The lawyer talks continually 

About the points of law ; 
But if you analyze his words 

They are not worth a straw : 

The only aim he has in view 

Is making jurors doubt, 
And prove his adversary knows 

Not what he talks about. 

The canting politician, too, 
Bawls on from day to day ; 

And freely talks of anything, 
Providing it will pay : 

In office he will one thing be, 

Another when he 's out : 
And make the longest speech on what 

He knows the least about 1 

And so it goes from end to end, 

Look on it as you may ; 
The question with the great and small 

Is, will the subject pay ? 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 85 

A lie will pass ; but simple truth, 

Too many people scout ! 
And thousands like to swallow 

What they know the least about ! 



THE CROSS-BEAM TREE. 

Hurrah ! hurrah! for the cross-beam tree ! 

May it flourish in every clime ; 
No leaf it knows, no flower that blows, 

Though it beareth the fruit of crime. 
It groweth not on the mountain-side, 

Nor yet in the greenwood free ; 
But thriveth well near the felon's cell — 

Hurrah for the cross-beam tree ! 

There was a time when, unrestrained, 

Like the upas tree it grew, 
And no one lied, or basely tiied 

To rob it of its due. 
No murderer then was a hero made ; 

Crime held no jubilee ; 
And villains died unsanctified — 

Hurrah for the cross-beam tree ! 

And thus, when justice reigned, it threw 

A ghastly dread around ; 
But fear to-day hath passed away, 

And its shade is hallowed ground. 
As the finger-post to eternal bliss 

Ere long it will worshipped be; 
A holy shrine to those saints divine 

Who die on the cross-beam tree ! 



86 SONGS AND SATIRES. 



BIGOTRY AND SCIENCE. 

Long o'er the world did 1 igotry maintain, 
By persecution, a triumphant reign ; 
I'ut science now has made the monster pause, 
Curtailed his power and dipt his gory claws. 

A Grain from Peter's J\pper-Box. 



For over eighteen-hundred years 

A tyrant old and grim, 
Ruled the world, and cursed all those 
Who dared in any way oppose 

The doctrines taught by him. 

And although his power has waned, 

He sits in majesty to-day, 
To human progress cries, stand still ! 
Move not a step against my will ; 

Be silent and obey ! 

When science first began to spread, 

And to new truths gave birth, 
The tyrant tried, with vengeance dark, 
To trample out the little spark, 
And crush it to the earth. 

But still the little sparklet grew, 

And burst into a flame ; 
Threw out its rays on every side, 
And spread its blessings far and wide; 

Till thousands bless'd its name. 

But greater was the tyrant's rage, 

Who swore he would regain 
His power ; by gibbet, stake, and rack 
He tried to bring the wayward back 
Into his fold again. 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 8 7 

But vain were curses, torture, power, 

To quench the glittering light ; 
The more he tried, the more it grew ; 
Around a hundred sparklets threw, 

And still appeared as bright ! 



And where each little sparklet fell, 

Advancement soon began ; 
Progression, with a mighty bound, 
Threw out improvements all around, 

A benefit to man. 

Astronomy now trimmed her lamp, 
Which shone from pole to pole ; 
And men, with unassumed surprise, 
Beheld the wonders of the skies,, 
And saw the planets roll. 

The electric rod its point uprear'd, 

The lightning's rage to mock; 
Geology to light was brought, 
And to a wondering people taught 
A sermon in a rock. 

And Botany went forth and sought 

For treasures in the wood ; 
New fruits and flowers there she found, 
Which Nature's hand had strewn around 

For pleasure and for food. 

And Chemistry, hand-maid of arts, 

Her useful hands employed, 
And by unerring laws displayed, 
That not a grain of matter made, 

Could ever be destroved. 



88 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

And then Philosophy appeared, 

Dispelled the mist of ages ; 
Colenso, Buckle, men of might, 
Arose, tradition put to flight, 

And brightened history's pages. 

But still the grim old tyrant sat 

And thundered forth his scorn : 
But science now could at him smile, 
For Darwin, Huxley, Spencer, Lyell, 
His hoary locks had shorn. 

Before the monster's throne mankind 

No longer stands aghast ; 
His rage, his curses are in vain ; 
His power, his instruments of pain, 

Are relics of the past. 

And blest will be the human race 

When bigotry shall cease ; 
And science reign in every land, 
And men unite with heart and hand 

In works of love and peace. 

To aid free thought, free speech, free press, 

Unite both one and all ; 
And make assurance doubly sure ; 
For freedom will not be secure 

Till bigotry shall fall ! 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 89 



THE SONG OF THE SPARROW. 

An old sparrow sat on a maple tree, 
"Cheer up ! cheer up !" twittered he ; 

But thought to himself as he looked on the ground 

For any stray crumb that was lying around : 
"The rain may fall and the wind may blow; 

The ground be frozen or covered with snow, 
But nobody cares for me ! 

"If I had a vote, I plainly see, 

Cheer up! cheer up !" twittered he ; 
"The City Fathers, without hesitation, 

Would grant me a small appropriation ; 

But the square is locked, and the keeper away, 

Caring for nothing at all but his pay — 
And nobody cares for me ! 

"How very ungrateful republics must be ; 

Cheer up ! cheer up !" twittered he ; 
"Although I am praised for destroying the worms, 

I am left to starve 'midst the winter storms : 

If this is the City of Brotherly Love, 

I wish its professors their kindness would prove, 
And somebody care for me ! 

"But spring will come and the flowers bloom free ; 

Cheer up ! cheer up !" twittered he ; 
"And with them will come the worms and the flies, 

And then I can such shabby treatment despise ! 

Amidst the green trees, upon sunshiny days, 

I can sit in contentment and warble the praise 
Of One who cares for me !" 



9 o SONGS AND SATIRES. 

GET RICH, IF YOU WOULD BE RESPECTED. 

Money is the God of Civilized Nations. 

Whoever will take but a glance at mankind — 

It needs but the smallest perception — 
The object of all is the same, he will find, 

With scarcely a single exception : 
Buy cheap and sell dear ; accumulate wealth, 

No matter what way it 's collected ; 
Regardless of honesty, virtue, or health, — 

Get rich, if you would be respected ! 

Though your life may have been a succession of crimes : 

Brutality, ignorance, error ! 
Just fill up the pockets with dollars and dimes — 

You are polished as bright as a mirror ! 
For when it 's discovered you have a good "pile," 

The persons who once have rejected, 
Your favor will court, shake your hand with a smile, 

For riches make bad men respected ! 

But beware of your riches, if Fortune should frown, 

And rob you of all your possessions ; 
You will find to your cost, if by chance you comedown, 

To be poor is the worst of transgressions. 
When your pocket is empty ; coat tattered and torn ; 

How quickly you will be neglected ! 
The world will despise you and treat you with scorn : 

Keep rich, if you would be respected ! 

If in future you would have your memory blest, 

To church leave a liberal donation ; 
When you cease to exist, your soul 's prayed to rest, 

And your name 's held in high veneration : 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 91 

Eulogy, too, o'er your grave will be said, 

A monument to you erected, 
For, the maxim 's the same, either living or dead, 

Get rich, if you would be respected ! 



GOLD. 



There is a god adored by all, 

In regions hot and cold : 
By old, by young, by great and small— 

'T is gold ! Bright, shining gold ! 

It places rogues by honest men ; 

It makes the timid bold ; 
It rules the mind, the press, the pen — 

This gold ! This shining gold ! 

It causes grief ; it causes joy ; 

It causes crime untold ; 
It either life or death can buy — 

This gold ! This shining gold ! 

It nerves for war ; it strengthens peace ; 

It tyrants will uphold ; 
It arts and commerce will increase — 

This gold ! This shining gold ! 

It rules the church ; it rules the state ; 

It secrets will unfold ; 
The influence, who can relate ? 

Of gold ! Bright, shining gold ! 



92 SONGS AND SATIRES. 



SYMPATHY. 



It is a cold December night, 

Hark, how the wind doth blow ! 
John, close the shutters, make them fast, 

Keep out the falling snow. 
Ah ! what a pleasure to be rich, 

With luxuries in store ; 
And discount notes at cent per cent — 

God help the starving poor ! 

Bring in my carpet slippers, John, 

And make the parlor warm ; 
I love to sit and listen to 

The howling of the storm : 
Cigars and brandy also bring, 

They 're of the best, I 'm sure : 
How glad I am that coal is dear — 

God help the starving poor ! 

Come hither, John, and answer me : 

Did Dobson call to-day? 
His note was due at twelve o'clock ; 

He said he 'd call and pay : 
He did not? Then, I '11 not allow 

The rogue one moment more, 
But place the sheriff on his goods — 

God help the starving poor ! 

Pray tell me, John, did Mr. Steck, 

The pious man, drop in ? 
He did ! Ah, John, I wish this world 

Was free from every sin. 
To spread God's Word in heathen lands, 

I would give half my store, 
His name be praised ! — and flour is up — 

God help the starving poor ! 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 93 

To-morrow, John, if you have time, 

And nothing else to do, 
Do n't fail to call on Widow Jones, 

And leave a tract or two. 
She needs some consolation, John, 

Being lonely, sad, and sore ; 
But tell her I must have my rent — 

God help the starving poor ! 

Remember, John, whoever calls, 

I 'm not at home to-night ; 
Attend the bell, be careful, mind, 

See everything is right ! 
Hand me the paper : that will do ; 

Retire and close the door : 
Good news ! provisions have advanced ! — 

God help the starving poor ! 



THE REVISED EDITION. 

Revised and corrected, transformed, and then 

Amended, revised, and altered again ; 

Some added, and some thrown rudely aside ; 

And still it 's the same unerring guide ! 

And woe be to him who would cast any doubt 

If half that remains in the Book was thrown out : 

But will some one tell (either wise man or fool) 

How revisers can mend an infallible rule ? 

I don't say they cannot, but it seems rather odd 

To always be tinkering "the word of God ! " 



94 SONGS AND SATIRES. 



OUTBID THE HOUSE OF GIN. 



The most effectual way of closing taverns is by opening free 
libraries. 



The temperance men may cry, reform, 

But still it is in vain ; 
Mere words alone have not the power 

Men's actions to restrain. 
Good works, though silent, louder speak, 

And better lessons teach ; 
So those who wish reform to see, 

Must practice what they preach ! 

Away with all coercive laws ! 

They do more harm than good, 
And never made men better, 

Though for ages they have stood. 
Persuasive means and friendly acts 

Will far more converts win ; 
To lead men from the drunken path, 

Outbid the house of gin ! 

It is not running through the streets, 

And giving tracts away ; 
Or yet in forming temperance bands, 

At tavern doors to pray; 
"Prayers are but words, and words but wind," 

Enthusiastic din ; 
To aid the cause do something more : 

Outbid the house of gin ! 

Should those who will not go to church 

Upon the Sabbath-day, 
Be spurned and rudely thrust aside, 

And left to go astray? 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 95 

Would that there were some other place 

Where they might enter in ! 
But no, all other doors are closed, 

Except the house of gin ! 

Whilst things remain in such a state, 

How vain to cry, reform ! 
Throw open all your library doors, 

It will not morals harm; 
And many men, if given a choice, 

Would quickly enter in ; 
Commence a sober, better life — 

Forsake the house of gin. 

As men will some enjoyment have, 

Is it not better far 
To substitute the reading-room 

For brawling tavern-bar? 
But when you take the cup away, 

If victory you would win, 
Give something better in return — 

Outbid the house of gin ! 



THE DAYS OF OLD. 

Who shall rule in the land of the free, 
Bigots or workingmen, which shall it be? 

Folks may talk of the merry days of old, 

When the rich alone were free ; 
But I want no steel-clad baron bold 

To lord it over me ! 
Let those who choose to old customs cling, 

I praise not or condemn ; 
But no homage I owe to pope or king, 

I was born as free as them. 



96 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

What is it to me what was said or done 

Two thousand years ago ? 
The law of progress still goes on, 

Although it may be slow : 
New thoughts as well as men arise, 

And old ones pass away : 
It is not things of the past I prize, 

But things as they are to-day. 

Then let the mind untrammeled be, 

Improvement be the aim ; 
With justice, truth, and honesty, 

In deed as well as name ; 
The bigot's chain of stake and rack, 

Has long been rent in twain ; 
No earthly power can force us back 

To the days of old again ! 



THE COAST GUARD. 

" Up ! up ! my men !" the captain cried ; 
"Arise and follow me ; 
A vessel lies upon the shoals, 

Her broadside to the sea. 
Bring out the boat and man the oars ; 

No time must there be lost ; 
The coast guard will its duty do 

Whatever be the cost ! 

" We care not though the tempest howl ; 
Or fear to face the storm ; 
Suffice for us to know we have 

A duty to perform : 
Heave ho ! brave boys ! the surf is strong ; 

Heave ho ! my gallant crew ! 
Though breakers may roll mountain high, 

Our dutv we will do !" 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 97 

On, on, they go ! the wreck is gained, 

The crew are brought ashore, 
The Coast Guard has its duty done, 

And it has done no more. 
And thus we all should ever be 

When men are tempest-tossed ; 
Ready our duty to perform 

Whatever be the cost ! 



THEORY AND FACT. 

Men, for ages, have been preaching 

What is right and what is wrong ; 
But what effect has all their teaching 

Had upon the busy throng ? 
Has it made them wiser, better j 

Less inclined to smite a foe ? 
Kinder treat a failing debtor, 

Than two thousand years ago ? 

Millions are to-day professing 

Peace on earth, good-will to man ; 
But in practice are transgressing, 

Making all the strife they can ; 
Setting brother against brother; 

Causing guiltless blood to flow : 
Do men better love each other 

Than two thousand years ago ? 

*' Bless your enemies and love tjhem," 

Is proclaimed from day to day ; 
Though they curse, oppress, reprove them, 

In a modest, gentle way ! 
The theory 's good ; but then the fact is 

None believe it, high or low ; 
Men no more forbearance practice 

Than two thousand years ago ! 



98 SONGS AND SAT/RES. 



YOU OR I. 

That circumstances alter cases, 

Is a maxim old and true ; 
And the cases very often 

Alter circumstances, too. 
Money is the god that 's worshiped ; 

Praise or censure it will buy : 
Right and wrong depends who does it, 

Whether it is "you or I." 

And there is another maxim, 

Daily quoted, "Does it pay?" 
And great rogues, like the great fishes, 

Always on the smaller prey. 
Cash is king ! A man with millions, 

Can both rank and honor buy : 
Right and wrong depends who does it, 

Whether it is "you or I." 

Party gain and party feeling 

Color party taste to suit ; 
With them all the power and profit 

Is the subject of dispute. 
Falsehood gilded to look truthful ; 

Truth transformed into a lie : 
Right and wrong depends who does it, 

Whether it is " you or I." 

On the land and in the ocean 

The weak are preyed on by the strong ; 
Conquerors everywhere proclaiming, 
"We are right and you are wrong." 
And the same it will be ever, 

Though the moralists deny : 
But right and wrong depends who does it, 

Whether it is "you or I." 



SOJVGS AND SA TIRES. 99 



THE SONG OF THE PICKPOCKET. 

A platform full, a crowded car, 

And a stormy night for me : 
When I can ply upon the sly 

My nimble fingers free. 
I push, I crush, I edge my way ; 

No fear can me debar. 
If there is a jam, it is there I am — 

Hurrah for a crowded car ! 

If folks will on each other crush, 

What need have I to care ? 
Like railroad president, my aim 

Is dividend and fare. 
Though cop and spy may us annoy, 

If we neglect their fee ; 
There 's no mistake, they 're on the make — ■ 

But the crowded car for me ! 

Let fools and fops display their cash, 

Their jewelry expose ; 
Who would forbear to take such fare, 

When thrust beneath the nose ? 
Purse, pin, chain, watch ; all I can snatch, 

No matter whose they are : 
For picking up and knocking down, 

Hurrah for a crowded car ! 

If caught at last, in prison cast, 

There is no cause to wail ; 
I can, for pay, without delay, 

Be let out on straw bail. 
Success to professionals, great and small, 

Wherever they may be, 
But a stormy night, and fingers light, 

And a crowded car for me ! 



oo SONGS AND SAT/RES. 

PROTECT THE WORKINGMAN. 

A SONG FOR TRADE UNIONS. 

Success to the hardy sunburned man, 

The tiller of the soil J 
And to the brave mechanic, too, 

Who is not afraid of toil. 
The wealthy of their wealth may boast, 

But tell me, if you can, 
Where would they be, what would they do, 

Without the workingman ? 

Then here 's to the hammer and the plough, 
And the hand that guides them, too ; 

If it was not for the workingman 
What would the rich man do ? 

Who is it that produces all, 

And gets the smallest share ? 
That raises corn and runs the loom — 

The toiler everywhere ? 
Is it the hoarder-up of gold, 

Who seizeth all he can? 
Oh, no ! it is the horny hand 

Of the honest workingman. 

Is it fair, I ask, to be like a slave, 

Toiling on from day to day ; 
And half of the sweat-stained cash that is earned, 

In rent and in taxes pay ? 
Whilst Wealth, as a monarch, reigns supreme, 

And its courtiers, a grasping clan, 
Are doing all they can to rule 

And crush the workingman. 






SONGS AND SATIRES. 

Give us protection, is the cry 

Of rich men, great and small ; 
But labor must be unrestrained, 

And free to one and all. 
Thus wealth gets all and labor none — 

Deny it, ye who can ! 
But if we must protection have, 

Protect the workingman ! 



THE POLITICIAN. 

A corner loafer first was he, 

Who shunned all honest labor ; 
And sneaked around from place to place,. 

To prey upon his neighbor : 
No character had he to lose ; 

Was not above suspicion ; 
And as no one would trust him, he 

Became a politician. 

With a hulabuloo and a diddleumdo, 
A gentleman bummer of fashion. 

Around he at conventions fought, 

And primary elections ; 
And any other dirty work, ' 

Without the least objections. 
Stuffed ballot-boxes, falsified 

Returns, gave depositions ; 
And swore to either black or white, 

To please the politicians. 

A constable he then became, 

But how there is no telling; 
Which is about the meanest job 

Outside of Satan's dwelling. 



SONGS AND SAT/ A 

Poor people's goods lie seized and sold, 

Though starving their condition, 
To glut his greed ; as he was now 

A regular politician. 

And now he started a shebang, 

And whisky-mill together; 
And very soon the amorous crowd 

Made him a City Father. 
Although he was about as fit 

As mule for the position ; 
Who cared for that, as now he was 

A rising politician. 

For Mayor he ran, but money lacked 

To buy the nomination ; 
As cash is the best candidate 

With every delegation : 
How much he made on contract jobs, 

Or what upon commissions, 
Are things unknown outside to all 

Except ring politicians. 

A Representative next was he, 

And in the Legislature 
He always voted for a grab, 

No matter what the nature : 
I do not say that he got rich 

By fraud and imposition ; 
But when he left he had become 

A wealthy politician. 

Now blest with impudence and cash, 

Two things to recommend him, 
His party friends together join, 

And to the Senate sent him : 
And very soon he hopes to go 

Upon a foreign mission \ 
As that for party service is 

Bestowed on politicians. 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 

And (if he goes) when he returns, 

'Tis confidentially stated, 
As candidate for President 

He will be nominated. 
As figureheads are always best 

For such a high position ; 
And puppets work the best when pulled 

With strings by politicians. 

Therefore all you who wish to rise 

In this enlightened nation, 
Shun work, and honesty likewise ; 

They are a degradation : 
Cheat, steal, and lie, and bum around ; 

Drink whisky in addition : 
Because the bigger fraud you are, 

The better politician ! 



!°3 



SONG OF THE MEDICAL STUDENT. 

I don't see why people so foolish should be 

As buy lots, and pay the grave-digger a fee, 

When they might save expenses, and wealth, too, increase, 

By selling relations, ten dollars apiece, 

To the University. Oh ! what perversity — 
What use are poor folks except to cut up? 

When they die, undertakers may put them on ice, 
And then in a coffin trimmed up very nice, 
Take them to the grave-yard and put them below ; 
But, what is the use? we shall have them, that 's so, 
At the University. Oh ! what perversity — 
What use are poor folks except to cut up ! 



1 04 SONGS A A r D S. I 7 IR ES. 

The vault may be watched, and the cemetery, too, 
But cash them will open with little ado. 
What care bodysnatchers for watch-dogs or lead, 
When they make a good living by furnishing dead 
To the University? Oh ! what perversity — 
What use are poor folks except to cut up? 

Then here 's to the scalpel as well as the saw ! 

We care not for public opinion or law ! 

If bummers and paupers cannot be supplied, 

In spite of the devil, we '11 get them outside 
At the University. Oh ! what perversity — 
What use are poor folks except to cut up? 



FRIENDLY ADVICE. 

There is an old proverb the rich often quote, 

And it 's all very good in its way, 
'Tis this: When in trouble you must not forget 

It is darkest before it is day. 

With a home to reside in, and money to spend, 
Men may preach up forbearance, delay, 

To those who are wretched : await, be content, 
It is darkest before it is day. 

There 's nothing on earth as cheap as advice, 

Or as freely is given away — 
Except by the lawyer, who does not believe 

It is darkest before it is day. 

Just suppose a poor fellow in want of a meal, 

With no cash in his pocket to pay, 
Who can tell what relief it would give him to think 

It is darkest before it is day ! 

But those who are true to a friend in distress, 

Do something far better than say: 
"Have patience, be calm, there will something turn up, 

It is darkest before it is day !" 



SONGS AXP SATIRES, 105 



THE SONG OF THE COMMUNE. 

Away with the crumbling relics of yore, 

To every land a disgrace; 
Blot out ancient customs and musty old lore, 

And leave not the slightest trace; 
There must and there shall be a leveling day, 

The wealth all divided — but when 
Our share in debauchery is squandered away, 

We all must divide again. 

The law of restraint is a law we detest, 

Be it human or be it divine. 
Moreover, opinions must all be suppressed 

That do not agree with mine. 
Whatever men do there must be no complaint, 

As all are born equal and free 
To act as they choose without any restraint — 

Providing they don't injure me. 

The tyrant may try all progression to stop ; 

But oppression must be overthrown. 
The law and the gospel may build systems up ; 

Our aim is to pull systems down ! 
Away with the pope, with the queen and the king, 

The mitre and crown throw aside; 
Reverse, oh, ye beggars, the order of things, 

And then we on horseback shall ride. 

Join in, loyal patriots, for freedom must reign ; 

The mob for the turmoil are rife. 
We have nothing to lose, but something to gain, 

Am'd spoliation and strife. 
The world must be cleared of the rich and the proud, 

And the roughs do whatever they please, 
But we, the Communists, must all be allowed 

To live without work at our ease ! 



io6 SONGS AND SATIRES. 



THE TWO DOXIES. 

Said Deacon Rant to Deacon Cant : 
'•My very blood is boiling, 
To think how many sinful men, 

Are daily busy toiling 
To rob us of that precious place, 

That we believe the most in ; 
What consolation will there be 

Without a hell to roast in?" 

"I own it 's hard," said Deacon Cant, 
"But there is no denying 
It will be just as great a loss 

To millions that are dying. 
My withering curse alight upon 
All false, deluding teachers ! 
If hell 's broke up, it 's plain enough 
There '11 be no work for preachers." 

"There's truth in that," said Deacon Rant, 
"Which I do not admire ; 
And who will care about the threat 

Of brimstone and of fire? 
Not that I care for hell myself, 
I would not put my nose in ; 
But oh ! it 's hard to give up such 
A place to put one's foes in." 

"And then the Devil, too," said Cant, 
"Imps, pitchfork, fiery chain, 
When the abode 's destroyed, I don't 

See how they can remain. 
The loss can never be repaired, 

That 's clear to me as noon-day : 
And when such precious things are lost, 
What will become of Sunday?" 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 107 

"That 's so," said Deacon Rant, "and I 

Two other things see clearly, 
Our places we shall lose ; beside 

A thousand dollars yearly : 
So I propose we vote that this 

New doctrine be demolished ; 
And pass a resolution that 

Hell shall not be abolished !" 



DOWN ON THE POOR. 

Oh, fie ! Do n't you know it is Sunday, 

When each one should cease from employment ? 
Let the rich man ride out in his carriage : 

What right have the poor to enjoyment? 
Let them stifle in courts and in alleys ; 

Or sneak in the grog shop's side-door; 
I hate all those greasy mechanics ! 

I'm down on the laboring poor ! 

If they come to my church on a Sunday, 

Their clothes are not fit to be seen ; 
And they put but five cents in the basket — 

Contemptible, ragged, and mean ! 
Do n't the rich man put in his ten dollars ? 

Yes; some I have known put in more; 
I hate all those greasy mechanics ! 

I 'm down on the laboring poor ! 

To ride in the cars on a Sunday ! 

Such conduct shall not be allowed ; 
Can any one call himself Christian 

And mix in the vile, wicked crowd? 
I '11 call on the Mayor and policemen ; 

The cars must not run by my door ! 
I hate all those greasy mechanics ! 

I 'm down on the laboring poor ! 



io8 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 



DON'T TELL. 

To-day I learned a thing or two, 

I wish you all to know ; 
And as advice is always cheap, 

I freely mine bestow : 
It is not rules for single men, 

Or yet a marriage guide; 
But wait and I will tell you — 

But you must not tell outside. 

There 's Biddy Miles, the chambermaid, 

Declares she has no beau ; 
But somehow on a Thursday night 

She always wants to go 
To see her "own dear cousin Mike," 

With him an hour abide : 
Now, she is on the sparking dodge — 

But do n't tell that outside. 

There 's Brown, who vows unto his wife 

Upon a Sunday night, 
He must go out and meet a friend ; 

But comes home rather tight ; 
He swears he could not get away, 

Although he often tried ; 
Now, he is on the drinking dodge — 

But do n't tell that outside. 

And there 's Miss Jones, the sour old maid ; 

One of those sly old coons, 
Who swear they have the right to vote, 

And wear the pantaloons ; 
And that it 's right to change about 

When one man has been tried : 
Now, she is on the free-love dodge — 

But do n't tell that outside. 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 109 

Next come the politicians; 

A noisy, thirsty set, 
Who will not work unless it is 

Fat offices to get : 
The black and white are both alike 

(If they are not belied); 
As all are on the grabbing dodge — 

But don't tell that outside. 

There 's many other little things 

Which all of us may spy ; 
But what they are I calculate 

You know as well as I. 
But take enjoyment where you can, 

No matter who may chide — 
But kissing is a secret 

You must not tell outside. 

Now, do n't own up to anything, 

Because I know full well 
You all have little secrets 

You would not like to tell ; 
But as to mine, be what they will, 

I freely let them slide; 
And am not such a fool as go 

And tell them all outside. 



EVERY DAY EXPERIENCE. 

From pole to pole, both high and low, 

Of every rank and station, 
Commiserate each other's woe 

With pious resignation ; 
Advice, which nothing costs, forsooth ! 

How freely all can spare it : 
But those who have an aching tooth, 

Are forced to grin and bear it ! 



SONGS AND SAT/ RES. 

Pretension reigns in every place : 

The church, the State, the palace; 
And thousands have a smiling face, 

Whose hearts are filled with malice : 
With what solemnity men teach, 

Love and conciliation ; 
But, did they practice what they preach 

Oh ! what a reformation ! 



To keep the vulgar mind in fear, 

From the remotest ages, 
Has been the practice everywhere, 

Of saints as well as sages : 
They onward rush, or slowly creep, 

For this and that they holloa, 
And like a timid flock of sheep 

The masses blindly follow. 



Where quibbling lawyers do resort, 

And are each other chiding, 
The greatest knave in all the court 

Is often found presiding ! 
How often circumstances there, 

And money alter cases ; 
And falsehood made like truth appear 

By men who have two faces. 

How many ruin fame and health ; 

Encounter every danger; 
And yet, when rolling in their wealth, 

To happiness a stranger : 
And still for gain folks swear and lie, 

As though for recreation ; 
Though money never yet could buy 

An honest reputation. 



SONGS AND SAT/RES. 

How many men there are to-day, 

Professing outward sorrow, 
Who would (providing it would pay) 

Begin to laugh to-morrow ; 
But hypocrites lack not pretence 

To serve their own advances ; 
Like turkey-buzzards on a fence, 

They sit awaiting chances ! 



BROTHERLY LOVE. 

Let pious preachers who profess their enemies to love, 

Proclaim aloud that war is right and sanctioned from 
above ; 

That "Peace on earth, good-will to man," has fill'd 
the world with strife, 

And God will love and bless the man that takes an- 
other's life ! 

Then sound the tocsin — havoc cry — let slip the dogs of 

war ; 
Let brother against brother fight, each other's name 

abhor ; 
Let them beat out each other's brains, destruction deal 

around ; 
And then proclaim thanksgiving and the sacred peals 

resound. 

Let those who once in friendship dwelt become each 

other's foe, 
And hatred like a hidden fire within each bosom glow ; 
The earth be drench'd with human blood and thousands 

helpless lie, 
Amidst the carnage of the field in agony to die. 



1 1 2 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

Give cities up to ruthless men to plunder and destroy, 
Who heed not for the widow's wail, nor yet the orphan's 

cry ; 
Let famine, fire, disease, and death, upon your brothers 

fall, 
Press to their lips the bitter cup of poison mixed with 

gall! 

Ay ! make them drain it to the dregs, resistance is in vain ; 
Instead of Justice, Love, and Peace, let war and discord 

reign ; 
Let desolation stalk the land, and vengeance mark the 

track — 
Such is the way to entice, you know, an erring brother 

back ! 



INDEPENDENCE HALL. 

All hail ! old Independence Hall ; 
Where lazy loafers daily call, 
To exchange lies, to pilfer, bawl, 

Like leeches stick fast ; 
And at thy shabby eating-stall, 

Partake of breakfast. 

Beneath thy venerable dome, 

Prized more than Mecca, Greece, or Rome, 

What host of pilgrims daily come 

To view thy trophy ; 
And smell pot-pie, and the perfume 

Of boiling coffee ! 

It surely must enhance thy fame, 
And add new lustre to thy name, 
To have an ancient portly dame, 

To serve all comers ; 
And vend stale pies, rolls, butter, ham, 

To legal bummers. 






SONGS AND SA TIRES. 1 1 3 

For here the pettyfoggers meet, 
And sit on three-legged stools, to eat 
Corn-dodgers, cakes made of buckwheat, 

Like hungry sawyers ; 
But p'r'aps such greasy things are sweet 

To briefless lawyers. 

Placards thy outward walls deface ; 
Newspaper-stands thy doors disgrace, 
And in thy basement is a place 

Rogues to appal, 
For many a well-known rascal's face 

Adorns the wall. 

Upon thy well-known avenue, 
From morn till night a motley crew, 
Ready to swindle Gentile, Jew, 

Or sell a vote : 
Who for a single shilling stew 

Would turn their coat. 

How kind the Mayor, who has allowed 
The Hall to be so well endowed ! 
A Philadelphian must feel proud, 

When he can trace 
Such nuisances in such a crowd, 

In such a place ! 



1 1 4 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 



AN ADDRESS TO THE DEVIL, 

Old gentleman with horns and tail, 

Wings, and a cloven foot ; 
You from the lower regions hail, 

A place as black as soot ; 

Old Nick, the Devil, or what not, 
Sometimes call'd Man of Sin, 

Presiding o'er the brimstone pot 
Without a bottom in ! 

Where as a monarch thou dost reign, 

Clad in a fiery robe, 
Bound down securely with a chain 

That reaches round the globe ; 

To tether thee so very tight 

Must be of little use ; 
With such a lengthy chain, they might 

As well have let thee loose. 

Though oft abused like any Turk, 

Accused of every lie, 
The preachers would be forced to work 

If thou by chance should'st die. 

Six days mankind of thee make use 

For to increase their pay ; 
But curse and load thee with abuse 

Upon the seventh day. 

Some may declare such actions rude : 

To judge I do n't pretend ; 
But think it base ingratitude 

To vilify a friend. 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. i 1 5 

But what men do in these hard times 

It matters not to me ; 
For well I know each rascal's crimes 

Are always placed on thee. 

But never mind ! although thy name 

Has been belied, ill-used 
(For every man of power or fame 

Is sure to be abused); 

From thee one favor I would ask ; 

It will not take one hour, 
And surely is an easy task 

For one with so much power : 

Take Northern Abolitionists 

(Thou surely must them know !), 
Give their infernal necks a twist, 

And send them down below ! 

And Southern nigger-holders take 

Down to thy regions hot, 
And give them both an extra bake 

Within thy brimstone pot ! 

The land with this vile canting crew 

Too long has been accursed ; 
And none but thee, betwixt the two, 

Can tell which is the worst ! 



i 1 6 SONGS A ND SA TIR ES. 



INDEPENDENCE SQUARE. 

Away with the dirty old square ! 

It is a disgrace to the nation ; 
The Press and the Ledger declare 

Such an act would be no desecration ! 
For bummers have met there to bawl, 

And mobs of the worst kind have filled it; 
Upon it erect the new hall — 

But first borrow money to build it ! 

Why should the old landmark remain 

As a token for any descendant, 
Whose forefather proudly proclaimed 

The nation should be independent? 
Where Freedom arose, let it fall, 

If degenerate people have willed it ; 
Upon its remains build a hall — 

But first borrow money to build it ! 

The old Square is but an eyesore 

To eyes that are aristocratic ; 
Moreover, what rights have the poor 

Who live in a cellar or attic ? 
Though fools may equality bawl, 

Bondholders have certainly killed it ; 
Therefore, let us have the new hall — 

But first borrow money to build it ! 

Only think, if we should have a king 

Or dictator ! It needs no reflection ; 
Now what a disgrace it would bring, 

With no place to give a reception ! 
The debt of the city is small, 

Though extravagance lately has swelled it ; 
By all means erect the new hall — 

But first borrow money to build it ! 



SONGS A ND SA TIRES. 1 1 7 



ORGANIZED CHARITY. 

Good people, please send in your cash, 

Because we are greatly in need of it ; 
And money, you know, is a curse, 

Therefore you had better be rid of it : 
To Us, We and Co., it is good, 

So let it come in with celerity ; 
And just think how many there are 

Now living on Organized Charity ! 

There 's Susan and Betsy and Jane 

And William and John and the race of them, 
All live on the fat of the land, 

Though fraud is displayed on the face of them ; 
Only think ! if your bounty should cease, 

Such humbugs would soon be a rarity ; 
And who would consume the good things 

That belongs to an Organized Charity I 

The good work we do is immense, 

In fact I might say 't is stupendous ; 
And what we have done for the poor, 

And are doing to-day, is tremendous ; 
The suffering, the needy, the sad, 

All are welcome ; there can be no doubt of it, 
As freely we take them all in — 

Providing we cannot get out- of it ! 

We do not say open your hearts, 

But we ask you to open your purses, 
And then you our prayers shall receive, 

As a charm against loss and reverses ; 
So send in your cash if you please, 

And we 11 give your name popularity; 
As scores of imposters would starve, 

If it was not for Organized Charity ! 



n8 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 



THE POLITICAL QUACK. 

There 's quacks in medicine as well 

As quacks in politics; 
And both of them, to gull the mob, 

Resort to knavish tricks. 



For if one-half of what the man 

Of physic says was true, 
The undertaker to his trade 

Must quickly bid adieu. 

But notwithstanding faith and cant, 

Men are afflicted still ; 
And none can tell which kills the most, 

The musket-ball or pill. 

The fawning politician, too, 

A nostrum has for sale ; 
And, like his brother quack, he swears 

'Twas never known to fail 

To cure all civil strife, if used 

According to the rules 
Known as the Party Platform Pill ; 

Expressly made for fools. 

Though thousands every year are tricked 

With such a stale device, 
The platform pill is sugared o'er, 

And swallowed in a trice — 

And easily digested, too, 

By all the gaping throng ; 
Who swear they will stick to the pill, 

Let it be right or wrong. 



SONGS A ND SA TIRES. 1 1 9 

The quack upon the platform stands 
And cries aloud with glee, 
"My worthy fellow-citizens, 
Vote for the pill and me." 

"We will, we will," the crowd replies, 
"Regardless what folks say ;" 
And thus the quack an office gets 
Upon election day. 

But those who voted, bawled, and fought, 

With black-jack and with dirk, 
With empty pockets and black eyes, 

Must starve, or go to work ! 



THE CENTENNIAL MATTER IN A NUT-SHELL. 

We have blow'd and have bragg'd ; 

Had tea-parties as well ; 
Put out ten-dollar stock ; 

But somehow it won't sell : 
Been begging to Congress ; 

But all will not do ; 
And now we are told, 

The whole thing will fall through, 
Unless we agree 

With the Finance Committee, 
To borrow the money 

By pawning the city ! 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 



SEEING AND HEARING. 

Says Mrs. Jones to Mrs. Brown, 
"It really seems to me 
The times and folks are different now 

To what they used to be. 
I saw and heard a-many things, 

Last time I was in town, 
That would astonish country folks." 
"Do tell !" says Mrs. Brown. 

"Indeed I will," says Mrs. Jones; 
"But mind ! when you have heard, 
Do not to any living soul 
Repeat a single word ; 
I would not have it told again 
For all the wealth in town. 
You promise not to say a word ?" 
"I do," says Mrs. Brown. 

"Well, to begin," says Mrs. Jones: 
"When you and I were young, 
We never went to fancy balls, 
Or skate amidst the throng ; 
But, now-a-days, it seems as if 

The world 's turned upside down ; 
For young folks do just as they please.' 
"That's so," says Mrs. Brown. 

"The ladies dress in large hoop skirts, 
And wear upon their head 
A something like a dinner plate, 
With feathers green and red ; 
Their hair tied in a bunch, except 

One large curl hanging down, 
As long as any pigg's tail." 
"Ha, ha!" laughed Mrs. Brown. 



, 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 

"Besides, they lie in bed till noon, 
Then on the sofa loll 
Till evening, when they dress themselves 

Just like a painted doll ; 
Then feast on candy and ice cream ; 

Go flaunting up and down. 
Such ways have a suspicious look." 
"They have," says Mrs. Brown. 

"And then there 's things called gentlemen, 
In little bobtail coats, 
Tight pants, big whiskers, and moustache, 

And beard as long as goats — 
I could not see the mouth for hair, 

It was so overgrown. 
How they eat mush I cannot tell." 
"Nor I," says Mrs. Brown. 



'They smoke and drink at the hotels, 

As bad as any sot ; 
But I could never see them pay 

A cent for all they got. 
'Just out of funds, or out of change,' 

Say all those sports of town ; 
But just say, treat, they all cry * in !' ' 
"No doubt," says Mrs. Brown. 



'There 's scores of places where they sell 
Ale, lager, wine, and punch; 

And give from ten to twelve, A. M., 
Bean soup and liver lunch, 

Stale meat, bologna, and sourkrout, 
Which bummers swallow down. 

They must have stomachs like a horse." 
"They must,'' says Mrs. Brown. 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 

"Then there 's the City Fathers; men 
Who love to gormandize, 
And often talk as simple as 

A lot of little boys. 
For piling up the city debt 

They have acquired renown ; 
I wish they would behave themselves. 1 
"They ought," says Mrs. Brown. 



"There 's lawyers and there 's judges, too, 
Who have done many pranks ; 

And lottery shops, and gambling dens, 
And broken savings banks; 

False oaths are sworn, and juries packed, 
And people are put down 

Below, who dare condemn such things." 

"For shame !" says Mrs. Brown. 



^'There 's men talk politics all day, 
A noisy, thirsty set, 
Who will not work, unless it is 

Fat offices to get. 
Although they great pretensions make 

To bring taxation down, 
I would not trust the best of them." 
"Nor I," says Mrs. Brown. 



'Beside, there is another lot, 
Known as the whisky ring, 

Who raise up spirits from a still, 
A very sinful thing ; 

Then bribe inspectors not to put 
The baneful spirits down ; 

The rogues should be to prison sent." 
"They should," says Mrs. Brown. 



SOA r GS AND SATIRES. 123 

"There 's something called a telegraph, 
But what I can not tell; 
And lots of party papers, which 

Are only made to sell ; 
They always puff their own side up 

And run the other down ; 
They lie worse than the naughty man." 
"What rogues !" says Mrs. Brown. 



"Scores of empty boxes on 
The sidewalks are displayed 
By merchants, to make people think 

They do a thriving trade ; 
But trickery and deception seem 

The common rule in town. 
The morals must be very low." 
"They must," says Mrs. Brown. 



"There 's men sell coal ; but those who buy 
Too often get short weight ; 
Besides, the coal is often mixed 

With dirt as well as slate ; 
And breastpins, rings, and studs of brass 

Are worn by folks in town, 
Washed over with a leetle gold." 
"Well! well!" says Mrs. Brown. 

"The dry-goods men wet muslin 

And hang it at the door, 

Declaring it is damaged goods, 

That 's just come in the store ; 
Part of the cargo that was saved 

Before the ship went down. 
What humbugs there are in this world !" 
"There is," says Mrs. Brown. 



i2 4 SONGS AND SATIRES. 

"Bakers put alum in the bread, 

Confectioners use clay, 

And grocers mix the sugar, 

The coffee, and the tea ; 

And as for drugs, it would be hard 

To get them pure in town. 
No wonder people die so fast." 
"There's not," says Mrs. Brown. 



"Then there is another dodge ; 
At every clothing store 
There stands a man with brazen face, 

Called a * barker,' at the door, 
Who tries to coax, pull people in, 

As they go up and down. 
It is a nuisance, anyhow." 
"It is," says Mrs. Brown. 



"Moreover, there 's the firemen, 
With engine, hose, and truck, 
They run to fires, and seem to love 

The water like a duck ; 
I heard sometimes they had a fight, 

Knocked one another down ; 
Such useful men should all be friends." 
"They should," says Mrs. Brown. 



"There 's offices where females go, 
Sit waiting all the day, 
And fifty cents, for what is called, 

Intelligence, they pay; 
But all such places, I declare, 
Had ought to be put down, 
They make such saucy hired girls.' 1 
"They do," says Mrs. Brown. 






SONGS AND SATIRES. 125 

"And yet there 's men in blue with clubs, 
To keep the folks all right, 
With stars upon their breasts; but strange! 

They seldom shine at night. 
Though paid to take bad people up, 
They oft knock good ones down ; 
They might be better than they are." 
1 'They might," says Mrs. Brown. 



"I saw men with green badges on; 
But why, I do not know ; 
They had three empty coffins, 
And three hearses in a row; 
I thought they had a funny way 

Of burying folks in town. 
Who ever saw the like of it ?" 
"Who did?" says Mrs. Brown. 

"What I am going to tell you now, 

You must not breathe again ; 

I heard there's going to be a law, 

But cannot tell you when, 
To push the colored people up, 

And pull the white ones down ; 
And make white women marry blacks !' 
"I won't," says Mrs. Brown. 



"But if I told you all I saw, 
As well as all I heard, 
I almost think you would, indeed, 

Begin to doubt my word. 
I thought the country awful bad, 

Before I went to town ; 
But city people sell the dead !" 
"Shame ! shame !" says Mrs. Brown. 



1 26 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

"Henceforth I '11 be content to lead 
A happy, country life, 
Away from all the wickedness, 

The misery, and the strife ; 
Let us be thankful that we are 

Some distance from the town. 
But now I must bid you good-bye V 
"Good-bye !" says Mrs. Brown. 



THE BOSSES AND THE SERFS. 

Ye patriotic gentlemen 

Who daily talk so loudly 
Of freedom and of equal rights, 

You surely must feel proudly, 
To know you are compelled to take 

The nauseating doses — 
And without making a wry face — 

Concocted by your bosses. 

How often I have heard you swear 

No one could ever fool you ; 
Ah ! how delightful it must be 

To let good masters rule you ; 
And sell you, too, like scabby sheep, 

By dozens and in grosses; 
What glorious freemen you must be 

To bow before such bosses ! 

Don't grumble, though you are assessed. 

Because it 's rather risky ; 
There must be money to buy votes, 

As well as purchase whisky. 
Besides, the people can be taxed 

To make up frauds and losses. 
Now do not swear, but pay your share,. 

And kneel down to your bosses ! 






SONGS AND SA TIRES. 1 2 7 

Shout, liberty! from morn till night, 

That every one may know you ; 
And if your masters should neglect 

A half-picked bone to throw you, 
Don't growl, but still with patience wait, 

And perhaps you may be able 
To lick up a few crumbs that fall 

From off your bosses table. 

If that should fail, do not despair, 

Or let the throng annoy you, 
Remember, you are up for sale 

To those who choose to buy you : 
So be contented with your lot, 

As life has many crosses : 
Thrice happy serfs, live on, and be 

Obedient to your bosses ! 



HOW I SAW HIM. 

Too much rum may be a curse, 

But too much cant is ten times worse. 

He kept a retail tavern, 

The time when first we met ; 
Sold whisky at five cents a drink, 

And bad at that, " you bet;" 
With loafers then he drank and swore, 

And oft got in a row : 
A dirty politician ; 

A blackguard, anyhow. 

The second time I met him, 

A wholesale store he had. 
And whisky by the barrel sold, 

And still it was as bad : 



1 28 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

But rich men patronized him, 
And drank it very free; 

As now a liquor merchant 
And a gentleman was he ! 

But once again I met him, 

A fortune he had made ; 
A rabid temperance man become, 

And damned the whisky trade : 
I saw him dirty, poor, and rich, 

And drunk as David's sow ; 
A little fraud at starting — but 

A ten times bigger, now ! 



TIMELY WARNING. 

It was summer, I know, for the weather was hot ; 
But the day of the month I have somehow forgot ; 
Or rather, I ought to have said, it was night, 
For I feel quite assured that I felt something bite, — 
When a figure I saw standing close by my bed, 
With no flesh on his bones, or hair on his head, 
And his jaws rattled hollow, as to me he said : 

"Now Peter, wake up, and cut-up a caper, 
And write out a notice and put in the paper." 
Said I, "What about?" "Why, the cholera," said he. 

"Don't you know me? Why, how very dumb you 
must be." 
Said I, "By your looks you are Death, I should 

guess." 
Said he, " You are right, and I '11 tell you, unless 
The streets are all cleared of the filth, right away, 
In the month of July, I a visit shall pay." 

"I may write out the notice," said I ; " but I see 
Quite clearly, no one will take notice of me. 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 1 29 

Folks'will have experience, you cannot deny it, 

Although there are few that are profited by it. 

And when all are masters no one cares a straw, 

Of aiding or yet of obeying the law. 

Moreover, contractors have such a loose way 

Of doing their work, care for nothing but pay ; 

And the people so busy a-seeking for wealth, 

They have no time to spare to look after their health !" 
"But," said Death, "I don't want them to be unpre- 
pared ; 

For I know when I come they '11 be awfully scared." 
|"Well," said I, "just to please you, I'll mention the 
fact, 

But I don't think they will take the trouble to act." 
"JVVell," said Death, "if they don't, when you've 
given them warning, 

You will hear them a-howling, the cholera! some 
morning." 



GRAB-ALL. 

The politicians east and west, 
Are playing a cunning card ; 

One loudly for soft money cries, 
The other bawls for hard : 

But who, I ask, would trust their cash 

To such a thieving set ? 
For be the money hard or soft, 

They grab all they can get ! 



i 3 o SONGS AND SATIRES. 

THE TWO CROWS. 

A FABLE. 

In ancient times — so says the fable — 
Many of the beasts were able 
To speak ; and birds of various feather, 
For consultation met together; 
If all is true therein related, 
Grave subjects were by them debated, 
And many problems then propounded 
Which have philosophers confounded. 
What has been, may occur again ; 
And birds shall talk as well as men. 
With this premised, I now propose 
To tell a tale about two crows : 
Once on a time, a Jersey crow 
Compelled by hunger, frost, and snow, 
One morning left his old domain 
Amid the pine trees of new Spain, 
And crossed the river Delaware 
In search of any scanty fare, 
Which Pennsylvania might afford 
To aid a starving Jersey bird. 
Hungry and tired his way he wings 
To where the never-freezing springs 
Boil up amid the lonely dell, 
And various kinds of insects dwell. 
Scarce had he reached his destination, 
And by a spring took up his station, 
Before a Pennsylvania crow, 
With croaking voice, cried out, "Halloa \ 
What business have you there, I pray, 
Feeding so early in the day?" 
The Jersey crow cocked up her head 
And to the Pennsylvanian said: 
"My business here I will define 
A" <=non as thou hast told me thine." 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 1 3 1 

Then both the crows began to chat 
Together, about this and that, 
In fact, had a long conversation 
On man, his habits, and his station. 
Says Jersey : "Down among the pines, 
I find it hard to live these times ; 
And in the fields great risks I run 
From trap, from poison, and from gun } 
Although from morn till night I try 
The worms and larvae to destroy, 
That would devour the farmer's corn, 
He looks on me with hate and scorn ; 
If man would persecution cease, 
Crows might be happy, live in peace." 
Says Penn : "My friend, I can discern 
That you have many things to learn ; 
Pray, how can you expect to find 
Peace or friendship from mankind ? 
Look at their actions, like a lot 
Of living eels within a pot, 
Each one is trying to get the best 
And raise his head above the rest ; 
Self-interest rules both Church and State, 
Makes men engage in fierce debate ; 
The party out thinks it no sin 
To damn the party that is in ; 
And those within turn round about 
And damn the party that is out. 
Does honesty or truth prevail 
Where blinded justice holds the scale? 
The starving wretch who steals a cent, 
Is oft for years to prison sent, 
But he that steals enough to fee 
The judge and lawyer is set free ! 
Again, look at the dirty tricks 
And fraud there are in politics; 
How knaves get in by bogus votes, 
And turn — to suit the times — their coats ; 



1 3 2 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

For he who best can gull the mob 

Is certain of the fattest job." 

Quoth Jersey: "Friend, I must aver 

You talk like a philosopher ; 

But as I very hungry feel, 

Suppose we take our morning meal, 

Appease our appetite ; and then 

You may resume your talk again." 

Then both ceased speaking for awhile, 

Devoured their food in Yankee style; 

Then on a branch took up their station, 

And there renewed their conversation. 

Says Jersey: "Friend, may I presume 

To ask you to again resume 

Your discourse on that wicked race 

To whom we so much misery trace ? 

I 'm sure a bird of your discerning 

Must have a mighty sight of learning." 

Says Penn : "If I the truth must tell, 

In Washington I used to dwell, 

And there amid contending factions 

I saw so many roguish actions, 

It nearly did to me appear 

As if the biggest fools came there ; 

Men without honor, void of shame, 

Put Honorable to their name; 

Sit there and bawl from morn till night, 

Trying to prove that black is white ! 

What use they are I cannot say, 

Except to lie and draw their pay." 

Says Jersey : "Friend, can such things be 

Where men are shouting, Liberty ? 

You surely must exaggerate 

Concerning the affairs of state." 

Quoth Penn : "I would defy a king 

To prove I magnify one thing ; 

I only tell you what I know ; 

What use is lying, to a crow ? 






SONGS AND SATIRES. 133 

Think not I would like Bancroft try 

Historic truths to falsify; 

Or yet, with cant gloss o'er the crimes 

Of those who have disgraced the times ; 

Although I love the good and wise, 

All panegyrics I despise, 

And hold this maxim to be true: 

The devil himself should have his due." 
"Enough !" says Jersey, "now I see 

You have not been deceiving me ; 

But, do poor men throughout the land 

This monstrous system understand?" 

Quoth Penn : "Poor men are easy fools, 

With saddles on their backs, like mules, 

And with a bridle on their tongue, 

Submit to all and jog along ; 

Moreover, knaves sit on their backs 

With whip in hand, and cry, more tax, 

More tax, more tax, more tax ; taxation 

And debt, are blessings to a nation." 
"Stop! stop !" says Jersey, "and explain, 

For I am at a loss again ; 

And cannot see the point — as yet — 

What blessing there is in a debt ; 

Although it may be understood 

By financiers, as clear as mud, 

To be a blessing in disguise, 

To me it does seem otherwise ; 

Or why should creditors be so pressing 

To take from debtors such a blessing?" 

Quoth Penn : "It is some new invention 

And much above my comprehension ; 

To-morrow, perhaps, I may explain, 

If you will meet here again ; 

Meanwhile beware what flatterers say, 

Be not by bribery lead astray ; 

Shun bigots, don't with fools contend, 

Or make a renegade your friend ; 



i 3 4 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

Avoid those knaves on poor men's backs, 
The odious gatherer and the tax ; 
Care not how others may deride; 
Let nature, reason, be your guide." 

The Jersey crow, with much delight, 

Went home amid the pines that night ; 

Next morn returned without delay 

To where he spent the previous day. 

The Pennsylvania crow came, too, 

The conversation to renew. 

Both were well pleased again to meet, 

With compliments each other greet ; 

But wisely thought it would be right 

To first appease their appetite. 

When they had ta'en their morning meal, 

Says Jersey, " I much better feel." 

Quoth Pennsylvania, "So do I ; 

But let us to the old branch fly, 

There is no better situation, 

And there resume our conversation." 

Says Jersey : "For the life of me, 

This debt affair I can not see ; 

In fact, it is my mind distressing, 

To think how debt can be a blessing. 

I try, but can no answer get ; 

Confound the blessing and the debt! 

But have you thought it over, say? 

You promised to explain to-day." 

Quoth Penn : " I have, and on my word, 

It is a sophism absurd, 

Invented by J. Cooke and Co., 

To make their worthless paper go ; 

As truth some fools may p'r'aps receive it, 

But they who say it do n't believe it. 

To prove my explanation true, 

A case in point I '11 give to you : 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 135 

Suppose to Forney I address 

A note for Chronicle and Press, 

And he my order should fulfil, 

And one year hence send me the bill, 

Which I return to him, and say, 

John Forney, why ask me for pay ? 

If public debt a blessing claim, 

A private debt may do the same ; 

Therefore you need not be so pressing, 

To take from me the debtor's blessing. 

Think you, John would not soon exclaim 

That all such blessings were a shame, 

And both the papers stop instanter! 

And swear I ought to pay the printer?" 

Says Jersey : "Friend, I now begin 

To see just where the joke comes in ; 

And how those men with brazen faces 

Make circumstances alter cases. 

But have you anything to say 

On national affairs to-day? 

I almost envy your position, 

In being such a good logician." 

Quoth Penn : u I have, and may as well 

Something about taxation tell ; 

And if there 's blessings in taxation, 

Our bliss exceeds all other nation's. 

Poor man is but a willing slave, 

Taxed from the cradle to the grave. 

The doctor first a tax must pay, 

To bring him to the light of day; 

And if his little stomach aches, 

The soothing syrup which he takes 

Is taxed ; therefore, to cure the cramp, 

The child must take a two-cent stamp. 

The soap is taxed that cleans the face ; 

The frock is taxed, edged round with lace ; 

The ribbon 's taxed beneath the chin ; 

The diaper and the diaper-pin ; 






130 SONGS AND SATIRES. 

The handkerchief that wipes the nose 
Is taxed, as well as socks and hose; 
A tax upon chemise and skirt ; 
A tax on coat, vest, pants, and shirt ; 

A tax on bonnet, dress, and shawl ; 

A tax on muff and waterfall ; 

A tax upon molasses-candy ; 

A tax on whisky, gin, and brandy ; 

A tax on coffee, tea, and spice ; 

A tax on pepper, starch, and rice ; 

A tax on mustard, flour, and salt ; 

A tax on hops; a tax on malt ; 

A tax on linen and on wool ; 

A tax on stove ; a tax on coal ; 

A tax on oil, on gas and rent ; 

A tax on matches, cent per cent ; 

A tax on spoon, on knife, on fork ; 

A tax on mutton, beef, and pork ; 

A tax on copper, lead, and brass ; 

On comb, on brush and looking-glass ; 

A tax on leather, boots, and shoes ; 

A tax on books; a tax on news ; 

A tax on pens, and ink, and paper ; 

A tax on candle and wax taper ; 

A tax on powders, pills, and potions ; 

A tax on ointments and on lotions; 

A tax on hearse ; a tax on crape ; 

The dead themselves do not escape, 

The shroud is taxed ; so is the pall ; 

The coffin, lining, nails, and all." 

Quoth Jersey: "Stop, friend Penn, I pray. 

No more about taxation say ; 

For freedom 's but an empty name, 

When taxes half men's wages claim ; 

And people who thus taxed will be, 

Deserve to lose their liberty. 

I now must say good bye, friend Penn, 

And hope we soon shall meet again. 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 137 

Henceforth I '11 try to be content ; 

I pay no taxes, debt, or rent. 

Though oft in winter, food declines, 

I love my home amid the pines ; 

There I am free from human foes : 

Thank Jove ! knaves cannot tax we crows !" 



THE BLESSINGS OF TAXATION. 

We once could boast of Liberty and freedom of the 

Press ; 
Our debt was small, our taxes few ; at law we had 

redress : 
To gain all this we whipped John Bull ; but now none 

can deny, 
Our press is gagged and freedom gone, our debt and 

taxes high ! 

And all this has been brought about by trying to free 

the blacks, 
For Abolition is the cause of all this nigger tax. 

Some years ago we fought and swore about a tax on tea ; 
But now no nation in the world is taxed so much as we ; 
Besides, our taxes and our debt increase now every day, 
And Yankee Doodle, like John Bull, a tax is forced to 

pay. 

Where is our gold and silver now ? Alas ! it is all spent, 

And in its place are greenback notes worth fifty-five 
per cent. 

Beneath two-billion-dollars debt poor people have to 
groan, 

And still Abe cries, " More tax, more tax, and take an- 
other loan." 



138 SONGS AND SAT/RES. 

Tax gatherers swarm throughout the land, the poor man 

to enslave, 
And burden him with taxes from the cradle to the grave ; 
They tax his meat, they tax his drink, his butter and 

his bread, 
They tax the shoes upon his feet, the hat upon his head. 

A tax upon tobacco, on sugar and on spice ; 

A tax on coffee and on tea, a tax on flour and rice ; 

A tax upon the marriage bond, when two are joined 

together ; 
A tax on blanket, bed, and sheet ; a heavy tax on 

leather. 

A tax on horse, a tax on dray, a tax on pork and lard ; 
A tax upon a Bible and upon a pack of cards ; 
A tax upon the doctor hired to cure us of the cramp; 
And when we take his physic down, we have to take a 
stamp. 

A heavy tax there is upon the wine of every sort, 

On claret, sherry and champagne, Rhine, Burgundy, and 

port; 
A tax on brandy, whisky, gin, ale, porter, and brown 

stout ; 
A tax on Dutchman's lager beer, bologna, and sour 

krout. 

A tax on barber's lather-box, comb, razor, shears, and 

pole, 
And just to freeze poor people out, a tax on stoves and 

coal ; 
A tax on candles, soap, and starch ; on hammer and on 

nails ; 
A tax upon the axe with which Old Abe once split the 

rails. 



SONGS AND SAT/RES. 



139 



A tax on needles, pins, and thread ; on coat, vest, pants, 

and shirts ; 
A tax on shawls and petticoats, on chemisettes and 

skirts ; 
A tax upon the bonnet and a tax upon the hat ; 
A tax on dogs — but, strange to say, they have not taxed 

the cat ! 

A tax on candy and ice-cream ; on mustard, pepper, salt ; 
A tax on coal-oil and on gas, a tax on hops and malt ; 
A tax on rouge to paint the face, on hair-oil and 

pomades ; 
And if Old Abe gets in again, he 's sure to tax old 

maids. 

Good people ! now, please take your choice 'twixt Abe 

and Little Mac ; 
One of them represents the white, the other one the 

black ; 
Black Abraham cries, taxation, debt, the draft, and 

bloody war ; 
McClellan cries, the Union, boys ; give us that; we ask 

no more ! 



WHO OWNS THE PARK? 

Said Pat to Mike, " To tell the truth, 
I 'm somewhat in the dark ; 

I know the people bought it, but, 
Who is it owns the Park ?" 

'Indeed," said Mike, "I cannot tell ; 

But there is strong suspicion 
That both the Park and people are 

Owned by the Park Commission." 






i4o SONGS AND SATIRES. 



GLORIOUS PROSPECTS. 

In these hard times, with money scarce, 

It surely is a blessing, 
As well as quite a treat, to see 

Improvements are progressing. 

And all the City Fathers say, 
The work must be extended, 

No matter where the cash comes from, 
Or how it is expended. 

Of course, they are all honest men, 

The poor taxpayers, pity, 
And what would they not sacrifice 

To beautify the city ? 

One of them has a grand design 
To bridge the Schuylkill over ; 

That folks may cross to George's Hill, 
And fatten on the clover ! 

New public schools another wants, 

But his design is funny ; 
It is to pull the old ones down; 

Build new ones with the money ! 

To put up a new water-work, 

Another is as eager, 
Being sure that it will stop the sale 

Of whisky, ale, and lager ! 

Another wants a telegraph, 

To stop the conflagration, 
Because he fears the city will 

Be burned up by taxation ! 



SONGS AXD SATIRES. 141 

There 's many other noble plans 

To aid the corporation, 
But there is none, no single one, 

To lessen peculation ! 



SING A SONG OF FREE LOVE. 

A NURSERY RHYME. 

Sing a song of free love, 

Kissing on the sly ; 
Everybody likes it, 

Just as good as pie. 
Old ones and young ones 

In it take a pride, 
Help the great reformers 

To spread it far and wide. 

B — ch — r in the bed-room, 

As happy as can be, 
Looking at engravings 

Along with Mrs. T ; 

Playing at "nest-hiding," 

Was it not a shame ? 
In popped Mr. Theodore, 

And spoiled the little game. 

Prying Cady Stanton 

Found the secret out ; 
Mrs. Woodhull heard it, 

And spread it 'round about. 
Moulton tried to stop it, 

But 'twas no avail ; 
Is it not a pretty little 

Free-love tale? 



I 



142 SONGS AND SATIRES. 



MR. AND MRS. GRUNDY. 

Mrs. Grundy, on a Sunday, 

Don't you think it wrong, my dear, 

And provoking, though I 'm choking, 
Not a drink of lager beer 

Can I get ; although I yet 

Would freely give a five-cent note ! 

Not a lager, but the nigger, 

Blockheads would thrust down my throat ! 

Besides, on Monday, Mrs. Grundy, 

If I in a car should ride, 
In comes Sambo, black as jambo, 

Sits himself close by my side. 

Is it right, ma'am, black and white, ma'am, 
Should be blended thus together? 

In disgust, ma'am, say I must, ma'am, 
I don't like it this hot weather. 

Mr. Grundy, on a Sunday, 

I do n't pity you a jot ; 
Busybody, you from Shoddy 

Just deserve what you have got. 

Glad am I, sir, you are dry, sir ; 

May you be so all the year ; 
You bawl'd hearty for the party 

That has stopped your lager beer. 

Be content, sir, with the scent, sir ; 

About riding shut your mouth ; 
Think not ill, sir, of the pill, sir, 

You have forced upon the South ! 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 143 

Take it down, sir; do not frown, sir ; 

For it, thank your blockhead crew ; 
No excuse, sir ; sauce for goose, sir, 

Should be sauce for gander, too ! 

But enough, sir, of such stuff, sir ; 

Of your twaddle sick am I ; 
Therefore, let no more be said, sir, 
As you freely made your bed, sir, 

On it be content to lie ! 



COURTSHIP, MARRIAGE, AND DIVORCE. 

Two or three laughs when a lover is near ; 

Two or three winks with a kind of a leer; 

Two or three frowns, if he tries to caress ; 

Two or three " now, don't you rumple my dress !" 

Two or three "ah! wicked man, go away!" 

Two or three times, if you want him to stay; 

Two or three smiles to wheedle him on, 

Two or three times to an ice-cream saloon; 

Two or three "noes !" if invited — and then, 

Two or three hints, meaning, "ask me again !" 

Two or three sighs, and a little "heigh-ho ! " 

Two or three pats when consenting to go ; 

Two or three whispers fond love to express, 

Two or three "noes !" — all intended for "yes !" 

Two or three carriage rides, just for the treat ; 

Two or three hugs in a lonely retreat ; 

Two or three scoldings, and when that is done, 

Two or three kisses, though asked for but one ; 

Two or three billet-deux, "dearest," and then, 

Two or three quarrels, and make-up again ; 

Two or three times to a church or a ball ; 

Two or three "feel rather timid, that 's all !" 



144 SONGS AND SATIRES. 

Two or three blushes, and hang down the head 
Two or three times when requested to wed ; 
Two or three "noes!" and then, "yes! dearest, love!' 
Two or three days be as fond as a dove ; 
Two or three times, then, refuse to obey; 
Two or three weeks after have your own way ; 
Two or three months, if you follow this course, 
Two or three times you may wed and divorce. 



THE TRUE STATE OF AFFAIRS. 

One word of advice to bad people — Reform! 
MISS REFORM. 

Said Miss Reform to Madam Cant, 

" I tell you to your face, Ma'am, 
Your wicked actions have become 

A national disgrace, Ma'am. 
Although your cloak of loyalty 

Does many things conceal, Ma'am, 
I plainly see beneath its folds, 

Your object is to steal, Ma'am !" 

MADAM CANT. 

f 'You saucy, little, meddling thing ! 

How dare you me accuse, Miss ? 
You surely ought to be ashamed 

Your betters to abuse, Miss. 
That I am loyal to the core, 

Is not to be disputed, Miss, 
And if you dare to say I steal, 

I '11 have you prosecuted, Miss !" 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 145 

MISS REFORM. 

"Just as you choose," said Miss Reform ; 
"But what have been your actions, Ma'am? 
Have you not been the leader of 
A prosecuting faction, Ma'am ? 
You are a thief, I tell you plain ; 

Now to the law appeal, Ma'am — 

What have you done the last ten years 

But prosecute and steal, Ma'am?" 

MADAM CANT. 

"Mind what I say, for I will not 

By you be vilified, Miss, 
True loyalty will never stand 

And hear itself belied, Miss. 
You may think, perhaps, the time has come, 

When you dare speak your mind, Miss, 
But much less traitors than you are, 

Have been by me confined, Miss." 

MISS REFORM. 

"I know too well there was a time 

You had things your own way, Ma'am; 
But I am thankful we have lived 

To see a better day, Ma'am. 
Your bastile and your power is dead ; 

They died with faction's storm, Ma'am, 
And Madam Cant shall nOw give up 

Her throne to Miss Reform, Ma'am !" 

MADAM CANT. 

"For all you say, and all you do, 
I do not care a tack, Miss, 
As long as I have Grant and all 
His minions at my back, Miss. 



146 SOJVGS AND SATIRES. 

The bayonet put me into power, 

Your fears and threats I scout, Miss; 

Until you stronger are than me, 
You Ml never put me out, Miss !" 



MISS REFORM. 

"There is your odious Sunday law, 

To freemen a disgrace, Ma'am ; 
And all your whining hypocrites, 

That sneak from place to place, Ma'am ; 
To stop the poor man's drink of beer, 

And rob him of all pleasure, Ma'am, 
Whilst all your rich friends freely drink 

Their whisky, at their leisure, Ma'am." 



MADAM CANT. 

"I mean to do just as I choose, 

Regardless what is said, Miss ; 
No one shall either eat or drink 

Those things which I forbid, Miss. 
The power and money both are mine, 

As leader of our faction, Miss; 
And Sunday law shall swallowed be, 

As well as local option, Miss." 



MISS REFORM. 

"I know you hold the public purse, 

And wish to be a queen, Ma'am ; 
But if free people will submit 

To you, they must be green, Ma'am : 
That you have a desire to stick, 

There cannot be a doubt, Ma'am ; 
But at the ballot-box, at last, 

You will be driven out, Ma'am." 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 147 

MADAM CANT. 

"What care I for the ballot-box? 

Its power I now defy, Miss ; 
There's not a politician lives 

That money will not buy, Miss ! 
And the opinion of the mass 

I can afford to slight, Miss, 
For well I know that barking dogs 

But very seldom bite, Miss." 

MISS REFORM. 

"I know you have a brazen face, 

And think yourself secure, Ma'am ; 
But if the people are such fools 

As patiently endure, Ma'am, 
Your tyranny and robberies, 

As well as other crimes, Ma'am, 
They are a cowardly set, indeed, 

A scandal to the times, Ma'am ! 

MADAM CANT. 

"Young as you are, all you can do 

I utterly despise, Miss. 
You have the will, but not the power, 

To sever party ties, Miss. 
Until the Ring is broken up, 

No matter how you storm, Miss, 
I can afford to sit and snap 

My fingers at Reform, Miss ! 

MISS REFORM. 

"Rave on ! The tattered loyal cloak 
Is falling from your shoulders, Ma'am, 
And soon your hideous form will be 
The scorn of all beholders, Ma'am. 



148 SONGS AND SATIRES. 

No power on earth shall make me stop, 
Or turn me from my course, Ma'am j 

And if fair means have no effect, 
I '11 try my hand at force, Ma'am." 

MADAM CANT. 

"I will no longer listen to 

Your Malaprop complaints, Miss; 
To rule or ruin every way, 

Is the maxim of we saints, Miss. 
Attempt to drive me out by force, 

I '11 raise a revolution, Miss, 
Smash up the Union, spit upon 

The very Constitution, Miss!" 



POPULAR OPINION. 

Rush ahead as though 

You had lost your senses, 
Care not how you go ; 

Nor for the consequences. 
Let your only aim 

Be accumulation ; 
Care not who may blame — 

Wealth is your salvation ! 

If ferry must be crossed, 
On the bow be standing ; 

Lest time should be lost, 
Jump off on the landing. 

Let no tyrant's check 

Keep you in your station ; 

Leap, don't mind your neck- 
Time is your salvation ! 



SOiVGS AND SATIRES. 149 

If you go to eat, 

Roasted, boiled, or stewing; 
Stand upon your feet, 

Swallow without chewing : 
Should it not digest, 

Take some preparation, 
Hoofland's is the best — 

Physic 's your salvation ! 

If you fame would earn, 

Humbug only rises : 
Start a gift concern, 

Offer heaps of prizes : 
Dupes are easily caught, 

By the invitation ; 
Wisdom must be bought — 

Cunning 's your salvation ! 

Never pay a debt, 

Though creditors may clatter ; 
Grab all you can get, 

The more you steal the better. 
If you should be caught, 

There's one consolation : 
Courts can all be bought — 

Money's your salvation ! 

If no other course 

Will better your condition, 
As a last resource 

Turn a politician. 
If that do n't succeed 

Beyond all expectation, 
You are doomed, indeed, 

To go without salvation ! 



150 SONGS AXD SATIRES. 



THE PAUPER SKELETON. 

As by the University, 

At midnight as I strayed — 
A place where botches often are, 

But doctors seldom made — 

Said I : " How many paupers here 
Have been conveyed in sacks? 

Cut up; boiled down to gratify, 
The morbid taste of quacks?" 

But scarcely had I spoke the words, 

Before I heard a sound : 
Which made me stop, and quick as thought 

Gaze anxiously around ; 

When at my very elbow stood 

(Indeed, it was no joke) 
A skeleton with grinning jaws, 

And thus to me he spoke : 

"Beware, old fellow, what you say, 
Although it may be true ; 
For when you die, if doctors should 
By chance get hold of you, 

"They'd cut you up like sausage meat, 
Electrify your brain ; 
Take my advice, think as you choose, 
But don't speak things too plain." 

"Said I : "May I make bold to ask 
A question or so ; 
As there are some important things 
I feel inclined to know?" 



SOiVGS AND SATIRES. 151 

"Said he . " They may be what they will, 
I 'm equal to the task, 
About the living or the dead, 
I '11 answer all you ask." 

"All right," said I. "Do spirits live? 
And are the mediums able 
To call them up, to untie rope, 
Beat drum and rap a table ?" 

Said he : "Why ask if spirits live ? 

Do you not see my own ? 
That once was in the flesh and blood, 

But now is in the bone?" 

"But do you tables rap?" said I, 

"That 's what I want to know." 
"We do," said he; "and more than that, 
Play on the old banjo ; 

"Though thousands of us are at work, 
Our labors still increase, 
For mediums make us fortunes tell 
At fifty cents a-piece." 

Said I: "Folks will do anything 

For to increase their pelf; 
But may I ask, if you will give, 

A history of yourself?" 

"I will," said he. "And first of all 
Permit me to relate, 
I lived — no matter how, to you, 
Though hard has been my fate ; 

"However, be that as it may, 
I in the end was drowned, 
And floating in the Schuylkill stream 
My lifeless body found. 



152 SONGS AND SAT/RES. 

"Fished oat by the police, sent to 

The Morgue without delay ; 

But in the cart the driver stole 

My wat< h upon the way ; 

"And soon as I had got within 
The coroner's control , 
A pair of golden spectacles 
He from my pocket stole ; 

"In fact the rogues took all I had, 
But still were not content, 
For to the University 
My body then was sent ; 

"Five dollars there for me they got, 
For to increase their store; 
By false returns the city robbed 
Out of eight dollars more; 

"With zinc I next injected was, 
Washed off, and after that, 
Put down with twenty-seven more 
To pickle in a vat ! 

"For weeks in brine immersed I lay 
Until I smelled like pork ; 
Then up to the dissecting-room, 
Haul'd like a bale of cork ; 

"Where students, like old women dress'd 
In gum elastic robes, 
Cut off my cranium, and then 
Commenced my brain to probe ! 

"Some slashed my arms, some slashed my legs, 
And some cut off my trunk ; 
And the professor talked as learned 
As any Peter Funk ! 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 1 5 3 

" He said from Galin's time till now, 
Two thousand years or more, 
The doctors had been cutting-up 
The bodies of the poor ; 

"And from them they had learned so much 
They were as wise to-day, 
As he who cut the bellows up 
To find where the wind did lay. 

"And in a million years they might 
Perhaps understand disease ; 
But in a college everything 
Depended on the fees. 

" The lecture o'er, my body was 
Collected in a lot ; 
And by a darkey took down stairs 
And boiled in a large pot ! 

"He scraped the flesh from off my bones ; 
And what was more than that, 
To make up soap and ointment with, 
They even sold my fat ! 

"The debris of my poor remains 
Was thrown down in the vats, 
Beneath the floor, to reek and rot, 
Or be devoured by rats ! 

"The old clothes from my body torn 
Could not be let alone; 
And all that 's left of me you see 
In spirit and in bone." 



"A shame," said I 


"But what," 


said he, 


"Do people care 


a rush, 




There are things 


n this city done 




Would make a 


heathen blush ! 




L 







i 5 4 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

* * lint now, good-bye 1 for Yankee-like, 

I have to go ahead," 
"Good-bye I said I ; as from my view 

The fleshless figure sped. 

But still I stood reflecting on 

The hints which he had dropped; 

And thought if rich folks so were served 
Such traffic would be stopped. 

Now, to conclude, all those who think 

My story is untrue, 
Had better call the spirit up 

And have an interview ! 



A PROMISE TO PAY. 

Let the people rejoice and be happy, 
Whatever the croakers may say ; 

For this is the great land of promise — 
That is, of a promise to pay ! 

Moreover, there is milk and honey, 
And other good things to be seen ; 

With plenty of debt and taxation ; 

And notes with the back printed green, 

Which look very much like a swindle ; 

A national shame and disgrace ! 
Professing to be worth one dollar ; 

But carry a lie on their face. 

The Custom House will not receive them 
For duty on hats, boots, and coats ; 

But who ever knew counterfeiters 
So foolish as take their own notes ? 



SOA r GS AND SA TIRES. 1 5 5 

Still there 's one advantage in greenbacks, 
Though bondholders think the reverse ; 

Such money can always be doubled 
Whenever it 's put in a purse ! 

Moreover, we find it in-creases ; 

But what is more strange, when it 's sold, 
The dollar that 's promised the bearer, 

Is worth half-a-dollar in gold ! 

If that 's not repudiation, 

What is? Will some bondholder say, 
When he talks about national honor, 

In keeping its promise to pay ? 

But success to the model Republic ! 

The land of pretension and tax, 
Where bondholders get gold and silver, 

And poor men hard work and greenbacks ! 



WHAT FOLKS GO TO CHURCH FOR. 

Some go to church just for the walk, 
Others go to smile and talk j 
Some go there for observation, 
Others go on speculation ; 
Some go there to show their clothes, 
Others go to sit and dose ; 
Some go there to meet a lover, 
Others go a fault to cover ; 
Some go there to wink and nod ; 
But few go there to worship God, 



156 SONGS AND SATIRES. 



THE RIGHT TO QUACK. 

Once on a time a lot of drakes, 

But not the canvas-back, 
Without a duck among the lot, 

Together met to quack. 

The reason of the meeting was, 

In many Northern lakes 
The ducks had just declared they had 

As much right as the drakes 

To practice physic, if inclined, 

In college or in hall ; 
Hang out a shingle, and prescribe 

For those who chose to call. 

For full two thousand years and more 
To physic drakes had stuck, 

And never had their claim before 
Been questioned by a duck. 

Though hundreds met untimely ends 

By poison and mistakes, 
Without the aid of stupid ducks 

Too many died through drakes. 

The drakes, then, to a hall retired, 

A lecture to begin ; 
But scarcely had they entered 

Ere the ducks came waddling in ; 

Then a professor rose and said, 

"Reluctancy I feel, 
In stating that our case to-day 

Is hydrosarcocele : 



SOiVGS AND SATIRES. 157 

And cannot, with propriety, 

Be to mixed clinics shown ; 
Therefore the case will be exposed, 

Explained to drakes alone." 

Some of the drakes then left the hall, 

But loitered round about, 
Looked disrespectfully at ducks 

As they came waddling out. 

Next morning, when the whole affair 

Into the papers got, 
The drakes became enraged, and wished 

The ducks were gone to pot ; 

And to avenge themselves at last, 

Put forth a long decree, 
Declaring drakes would be played out, 

If ducks were dubbed M. D. 

How the affair will terminate 

I do not care three tacks ; 
If learned physicians disagree, 

We might as well have quacks. 



THE GOOD OLD WHIPPING-POST. 

All hail to thee ! old relic 

Of those grand and glorious times, 
When rogues and rascals, great and small, 

Were punished for their crimes. 
The terror of the base and vile, 

And all the thieving host j 
Reformer of dishonesty — 

The good old whipping-post ! 



158 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

The very best invention 

That ever was designed, 
To teach light-fingered gentry 

Their duty to mankind. 
Not one of all the numerous throng, 

Who thy acquaintance boast, 
Forgets the lesson gathered at 

The good old whipping-post ! 

Thy mark upon society 

May easily be traced ; 
Although thy form by honest hands 

Has never been embraced. 
And few reluctant worshipers 

Of all thy hardened host, 
Embrace thy form a second time — 

The good old whipping-post ! 

No preacher ever could convert 

A criminal like thee ; 
Or leave such an impression 

On the back of knavery. 
To every rogue thy form appears, 

As grim as Banquo's ghost ! 
But honest men can smile upon 

The good old whipping-post ! 

The swindler may howl at thee ; 

And gnash his teeth in rage ; 
Denounce thee as a relic of 

A by-gone, barbarous age. 
When men reform by being fed 

On milk and buttered toast, 
We may give up, but not till then, 

The good old whipping-post ! 



SONGS AND SA T1R ES, 1 5 9 

FATHER GANDER'S MELODIES. 

TO BE SUNG BY CHILDREN AROUND THE PUBLIC SQUARES. 
I. 

Is it the Council, or is it the Mayor, 

That orders the keeper to lock up the Square ? 

Where boys and girls should be playing at hoop, 

Some one has made a large chicken coop. 

What a free country ! Oh, I declare ! 

Down with the railings and open the Square ! 

Schweitzer kase, pretzels, and lager beer I 

The Square is locked up six months in the year. 

Who will inform us, without more delay, 

Do chickens pay better than children at play ? 

Should a public place be a private affair? 

Down with the railings and open the Square ! 

Hickory ! dickory ! dockery ! dickens ! 
Who gets the eggs that are laid by the chickens? 
Does there a fowl ring control the affair? 
Down with the railings and open the Square ? 

Polly Ticks ! Polly Ticks ! Twice five are ten ! 

The Public Square is a chicken pen ; 

But what do the city officials care? 

Down with the railings and open the Square ! 

11. 
Crow, rooster, crow ! and strut on the grass, 
The public may all look at you as they pass ; 
Escort the chickens around in your pride ; 
Secure from the children that linger outside. 
Crow for the keeper, and crow for the Mayor — 
Down with the railings and open the Square ! 



i6o 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 



Clean up the city and make it look neat ; 
The playground should be in the public street ; 
Chickens can sport in the Square every day ; 
But children in court, lane, and alley must play. 
Give them the freedom to breathe the fresh air — 
Down with the railings and open the Square! 

Dog-catcher, dog-catcher, where have you been ? 
The trees in the city begin to look green : 
Come to the Square, though the keeper may bawl, 
And clear out the chicken-coop, chickens and all. 
Such a vile nuisance ought not to be there — 
Down with the railings and open the Square ! 



Burn up the dry leaves, and make a big smoke ; 
The Square is becoming a standing joke : 
Five men are working, and perhaps if they try, 
May get it fixed-up by the Fourth of July. 
But, as there are so many things to repair, 
Down with the railings and open the Square ! 

Spread round the gravel and make a good road ; 
But don't fail to count two for every one load. 
And now Lent is over, and eggs become cheap, 
Will it pay the keeper his chickens to keep ? 
But if he makes money, of course he do n't care- 
Down with the railings and open the Square ! 

Children, be happy and shout in your glee, 
The Square is locked up in the land of the free ; 
Blame all the tyrants in France and in Rome, 
But do.n't say a word about tyrants at home ; 
For it is your duty oppression to bear — 
Down with the railings and open the Square ! 



5 O.VGS A XD SA TIRES. i 6 1 



JOHN BULL TO HIS SON SAM. 

Said old John Bull to his son Sam : 
"You are my oldest lad ; 
And proud am I to see you, Sam, 
Take pattern from your dad. 

"Now don't begin to frown, Sam, 

Like many another youth, 

Or grumble at your dad, Sam, 

For telling you the truth. 

"You know, as well as I, Sam, 
We both love power and pelf; 
But when you left your dad, Sam, 
And set up for yourself, 

"You had a fine-spun theory, Sam, 
To justify your way ; 
But what you said was true, Sam, 
You swear a lie to-day ! 

"First, take your Declaration, Sam ; 
You treat the whole with scorn, 
Except where it declares, Sam, 
All men are equal born : 

"And that you called a lie, Sam, 
For eighty years at least : 
Made slaves of your black equal, Sam, 
And sold him like a beast. 

"I recollect the time, Sam, 
When you were wont to call 
Your dad an Abolitionist ; 
And cursed at Exeter Hall. 



1 62 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

"But when, in sixty-one, Sam, 
You got into a fix, 
You did as your old dad did, Sam, 
In eighteen thirty-six. 

"Both of us freed our slaves, Sam ; 
But in a different way : 
You to spite your Southern friends, 
While I freed mine for pay. 

"Again, I well remember, Sam, 
When you were very young, 
You swore secession right, Sam, 
And I swore it was wrong. 

"But when the thing came home, Sam, 
How soon you swore 't was bad ; 
And did the very thing, Sam, 

For which you blamed your dad ! 

"There is another thing, Sam, 
At which I oft have smiled ; 
That was, to hear you howl, Sam, 
If rebel you were styled. 

"It might have hurt your feelings, Sam, 
I candidly must say; 
But now you love the word so well, 
You use it every day. 

"Oft have I heard you swear, Sam, 
Taxation was a curse ; 
And call a national debt, Sam, 
A monster ten times worse ! 

"I am not going to say, Sam, 
You did not tell the truth ; 
But how is it to-day, Sam, 
You glory in them both ? 






SONGS AND SATIRES. 163 

" I own that in the franchise, Sam, 
You are ahead of me ; 
Of course, where soldiers guard the polls, 
Elections must be free ! 

"I have not got to that, Sam ; 
Nor can I tell, as yet, 
How the worst men you have, Sam, 
The best positions get. 

"But now a word or two, Sam, 
Concerning all the clamor 
That you are daily making, Sam, 
About the Alabama. 

11 Now, tell the truth for once, Sam, 
Though it should make you sick ; 
How many times have you, Sam, 
Been guilty of the trick ? 

" I do not say it 's wrong, Sam, 
Nor blame you for the act ; 
But Cuba and Brazil, Sam, 
Corroborate the fact. 

"Indeed, I want to know, Sam, 
Did ever you deny 
To sell to any one, Sam, 
Who had the cash to buy ? 

"From promises to pay, Sam,. 
Coal oil, or penny dips, 
To wooden hams and nutmegs, 
Clocks, cannon, shoe-pegs, ships ? 

"And has there a rebellion, Sam, 
These fifty years been known, 
You have not praised and aided, Sam, 
Unless it was your own ? 



1 64 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

"You say I took advantage, Sam ; 
However true it be — 
Did ever you once fail, Sam, 
To do the same with me ? 

" From the very day you left me, Sam, 
Whene'er my hands were full, 
You never failed to cry, Sam, 
Now, down with Johnny Bull ! 

"But very well I know, Sam, 
You have a bragging way ; 
And have to please the roughs, Sam, 
Before election day. 

"We both might live in peace, Sam, 
And better our condition ; 
If both of us would hang, Sam, 
The brawling politician. 

"We both have done some wrong, Sam, 
And both should have redress ; 
But let us look at home, Sam, 
And talk a little less!" 



THE INCOME TAX. 

Tax the \vorki~>gman, but spare 
The overburdened millionaire. 

Ye Congressmen at Washington, 

Be merciful ! I pray, 
Unto the wretched millionaire, 

And take off, right away, 
The feather that so heavily 

Is pressing on their backs : 
No longer let them groan beneath 

The odious Income Tax ! 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 1 65 

Look at their humble dwellings, 

Of brown stone and marble built ; 
The folding, polished, walnut doors, 

The mirrors richly gilt ; 
The Turkish carpets on the floors ; 

The paintings on the wall — 
Have pity, and exempt such men 

From paying tax at all ! 

It really is mysterious 

To think how they contrive 
On fifty thousand annually 

To keep themselves alive ! 
Their sufferings must be terrible ; 

And what is ten times worse, 
It adds insult to injury, 

To meddle with their purse ! 

Contrast them with the man who earns 

Six hundred every year ; 
He can afford to smoke cigars 

And drink his lager beer : 
Support a wife ; pay rent ; buy clothes ; 

Ride on the Sabbath day — 
It 's men of such extravagance 

Should be compelled to pay ! 

Therefore, good, worthy Congressmen, 

I earnestly implore, 
Take all the taxes off the rich 

And put them on the poor ! 
For workingmen like mules will bear 

The burden on their backs ; 
Work, sweat, and shout for Liberty, 

And freely pay the tax ! 



1 66 SONGS AND SAT/RES. 



A CHANCE FOR MEDIUMS. 

Mediums who for years have boasted, 

Calling spirits up at will ; 
If not too intoxicated, 

Now 's the time to prove your skill. 

Where is Owen, Crooks, and Wallace? 

Are the spirits all asleep? 
Can no great professor call-up 

One out of the vasty deep? 

If no other power will raise one 
From a great magnetic ring, 

Summon the old pirate's daughter, 
Known to you as Katie King. 

Katie is a knowing spirit, 
So it is proclaimed around, 

And may tell to some test medium, 
Where the lost one can be found. 

In the flesh or in the spirit, 

Speak ! or ever hold your peace, 

Who says first amongst the mediums 
Fame and fortune to increase ? 

Why for fifty cents tell fortunes, 

Tables tilt and rope untie, 
When there 's twenty thousand dollars 

Offered for the missing boy ? 

Tales of wonder you oft tell us, 
Why should you be at a loss, 

With the spirits as detectives, 
To discover Charley Ross ? 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 1 6 7 



FUSS AND FEATHERS. 

One day as rambling through the street, 
Upon the march I chanced to meet, 

With musket on the shoulder, 
A score or more of warlike chaps, 
With roosters' feathers in their caps ; 

The pride of all beholders ! 

The force was led by General Bob, 
Some wag declared he was a snob 

When not upon parade ; 
A famous man was he — to blow; 
And could by talking tactics throw 

Napoleon in the shade ! 

The men seemed fierce as frowning Mars; 
And if you could have seen the scars ! 

But those were out of sight ; 
But judging men by martial law, 
They looked like lions stuffed with straw ; 

As eager for a fight. 

As on they marched, along the track, 
Bob often wheeled around, looked back, 

His sword twirled round about ; 
And then as harsh as braying mule, 
He thundered forth some marching rule, 

Which I could not make out.' 

But still it was a glorious sight, 

To see them wheel from left to right, 

As nimble as a duck. 
And as they moved along in line, 
They looked as straight about the spine 

As worm upon a hook. 



1 68 SONGS AND SATIRES. 

" Where are those warriors going?" said I, 
To an old fellow standing by, 
The man turned up his nose ; 
"Where are they going? why don't you know? 
How green," said he; "around to show 
Their dandy soldiers' clothes." 

"But tell me, sir," said I again, 
"You do not mean to say those men 
Associate together ; 
No other motive have to meet, 
Then parade like children through the street, 
And show their fuss and feathers?" 

"No, no !" said he, "I '11 not say that; 
But some of them I know get fat, 

And stick to it like wax ; 
But this is what I want to know : 
Should working men for such a show 
Be forced to pay a tax?" 

"But are they forced to pay?" said I, 
" Indeed they are," was his reply ; 
"And should they dare to lack, 
Tax-grabbers on their bed will seize ; 
And if that does not pay the fees, 
The coat upon the back !" 

"Shame, shame !" said I, "can such things be, 
And poor fools shouting, Liberty ! 

Enough to tear their throats ! 
There are bad kings, and no mistake, 
But where is one that dares to take 
His subject's bed and coat?" 






SOJVGS AND SATIRES. 169 



SAMUEL CALF TO JOHN BULL. 

Dear Dad: — 

I calculate you know 

I wrote to you some time ago, 

And gave a pressing invitation 

To come to my great celebration. 

But, since I wrote you, dearest dad, 

Things have turned out so "all-fired " bad, 

I cannot well afford to pay 

To give &fete on my birthday. 

For aid to Congress I applied, 

But basely I have been denied \ 

And now I fear, without inflation, 

I cannot have my celebration ! 

Therefore, dear dad, it will be seen, 

Congress has acted very mean, 

And would destroy my reputation 

For such a small consideration ! 

I trust, dear dad, you will not frown, 

Or think that I am " backing down." 

Oh, no ! I fain would cut a dash ; 

And if I only had the cash, 

I would, regardless of expense, 

Accommodate you like a prince. 

But dad, I blush for to record it, 

I 'm so in debt I can't afford it ! 

Dear dad, forgive my youthful tricks 

Of seventeen hundred and seventy-six; 

For then, you know, I held the creed, 

That it was " rightful to secede ;" 

And might have still the doctrine held, 

Had not my Southern sons rebelled ; 

But now, if truth must be confessed, 

It is a doctrine I detest. 

i\lthough it may be right in Rome, 

I feel assured it 's wrong at home. 



1 70 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

Things vary so in different places, 

And circumstances alter cases. 

Another thing, dad, I regret, 

And that is laughing at your debt \ 

Until I had one of my own, 

To me the blessing was unknown ; 

But now I see, debt and taxation 

Portray the greatness of a nation ! 

Besides, I once believed a king 

To be a costly, useless thing ; 

But my belief has modified, 

Since I a President have tried ; 

For I perceive they are the same 

In everything, except the name. 

But, dad, do n't let me be mistook, 

Since I commenced on my own " hook,' 

I guess I have done pretty well, 

And all your other sons excel ! 

Moreover, dad, I trust you may 

Ere long a friendly visit pay; 

And hoping this may find you well, 

With due respect, Yours, 

Samuel. 
P. S.:— 
Though Congress basely me rejected, 
I found, where I the least expected, 
True friends and patriots, small and great, 
The men of the old Keystone State ! 
And, what is more, the women, too, 
Determined are to put things through ; 
And raise the cash, cost what it may, 
To celebrate my natal day. 
So, dad, without more hesitation, 
Get ready for the celebration ; 
But when you come, dear dad, I pray, 
Don't in New York one moment stay; 
And Boston, by all means, avoid ; 
As both of them have meanly tried, 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 1 7 1 

By every base insinuation, 
To stop my birthday celebration ! 
But come to Philadelphia, dad, 
To see you, we shall all be glad. 
And here I must digress, to say, 
For car-fare seven cents we pay ! 
But by the time that you arrive, 
Perhaps it may be down to five. 
The fete at Fairmount will be held, 
'Our Park," which cannot be excelled. 
By Nature's hand so gorgeous made, 
It throws all others in the shade. 
Miles in extent — hill, vale, and lea, 
Worth coming all the way to see ; 
But to conclude, dear dad, I am, 
As heretofore, 

Yours, truly, Sam. 



JOHN BULL TO SAMUEL CALF. 

Dear Sam : — 

Your letter I received ; 
And if you are to be believed, 
There 's been a mighty alteration 
In you since you have ruled a nation. 
You recollect, my son, no doubt, 
With what pretensions you set out, 
And what great pains you undertook 
To make things have an honest look. 
Proclaiming to the world, you were 
Both patriotic and sincere ! 
What glorious theories you devised ! 
And if they had been realized, 
Instead of discontent and vice, 
You would have had a paradise. 



1 7 2 SONGS AND SA TIRES. 

But, Sam, I really am afraid 

You have but little progress made, 

Though near a century you have spent 

In the art of self-government. 

I do not say you were a fool 

In thinking all men born to rule ; 

Or that, in nature, there could be 

Such a thing as equality ; 

But, Sam, it 's but a youthful dream, 

For might rules everywhere supreme. 

Philanthropists may whine and groan, 

And patriots howl from zone to zone, 

From now till doomsday, if they will ; 

But nature will be nature still. 

Mankind are something like a lot 

Of living eels within a pot : 

Each one is trying to get the best, 

And raise his head above the rest. 

No matter, brown, red, black, or white, 

The stronger always claims the right 

In civilized or savage nation. 

And so it has been since creation, 

And so it ever will remain, 

Though Darwinites may strive and strain 

To prove us a progressive race. 

Wherever we men's actions trace: 

In every clime, in every age, 

The saint, the sinner, and the sage, 

Have traveled on the same old way, 

From Moses till the present day. 

But now permit me, Sam, to say 

Something concerning your birthday ; 

For once, Sam, practice what you preach, 

And do not try to overreach, 

Lest visitors declare you aim 

At nothing but the grabbing game. 

Call to your mind "The Dog and Shadow : 

Be circumspect, avoid bravado ; 



_-,, 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 1 73 

Or, in the end, some envious neighbor 

May say, " The mountain was in labor ;" 

But wait till the affair is done, 

And then enjoy the honor won. 

Do as you choose ; but, nevertheless, 

I trust it will be a success, 

And bring you honor, friends, and pelf, 

Though much depends upon yourself. 

And now, by way of episode, 

Accept, dear Sam, this birthday ode : 

ODE ON TEA. 

In Boston town, of great renown, 

Some patriots did throw 
Into the sea a lot of tea, 

A hundred years ago ! 

Declaring they would never pay, 

To either high or low, 
A tax on tea, let what would be, 

A hundred years ago ! 

But that affray has passed away, 

And tax is still on tea ; 
Let the bells ring, and we will sing, 

I diddle, you diddle dee ! 

But now, my son, I must conclude ; 
I hope you will not think me rude ; 
And rest assured I shall come on. 
With due respect, 

Yours, truly, John. 

P. S.:— 
It made me feel extremely glad 
To learn you imitate your dad, 
Especially in debt, taxation : 
The two main pillars of a nation. 



174 SONGS AND SATIRES. 

Though you against me did rebel, 

I freely own that you excel ; 

And if you are an honest lad, 

You may be greater than your dad. 

That Congress does all aid decline, 

Is no affair, dear Sam, of mine ; 

But after grabbing the back pay, 

It looks suspicious, I must say, 

For to refuse a small donation, 

To aid you in your celebration. 

I know The Hub, and Gotham, too, 

And all their jealous, noisy crew, 

And carefully shall them avoid ; 

Though it may rile and wound their pride. 

Your car-fare, Sam, I freely state, 

You are a fool to tolerate. 

If you would only walk one day, 

It would be altered right away. 

Your Park I much desire to see ; 

A very fine one it must be. 

Hereafter, son, let discord cease, 

And let us try to live in peace, 

Unmindful what outsiders say. 

Look out for me. 

Yours, ever, J. 



IF THE DEVIL WERE TO DIE. 

Brother saints and moralizers, 

Though I wish not to offend, 
I would ask, if it is justice, 

To defame your dearest friend ? 
That you every Sabbath do it, 

Is a fact none can deny ; 
But what would be your position 

If the devil were to die ? 



SONGS A ND SA TIRES. 1 75 

Recollect those worthy shepherds, 

Who in such rich pastures dwell : 
Pious bishops, deacons, elders, 

Cardinals, priests, and pope as well ; 
If by chance they lost their father, 

Where for refuge could they fly ? 
Wretched would be their condition 

If the devil were to die ! 

Where would be those happy gatherings 

Called, camp meetings, every year ? 
Where would be those wailing brethren, 

And those weeping sisters, dear ? 
If there was no one to tempt them 

To be sinful on the sly: 
Ocean Grove would be deserted, 

If the devil were to die ! 

Tail and hoof and horns and pitchfork, 

And the unique fiery robe, 
Chain and all, alas ! would vanish, 

Though it reaches 'round the globe ! 
And the pit, without a bottom, 

No more brimstone would supply ! 
Oh ! things would be truly awful, 

If the devil were to die ! 

There would be no Botts nor Beechers 

Luxuriating like the Turk ! 
And the Moody-Sankey-Murphys, 

All must starve or go to work ! 
Canting would be at a discount, 

Truth would triumph o'er a lie ! 
Who would fight about religion, 

If the devil were to die ! 



176 SONGS AND SATIRES. 



MOTHER CHURCH AND DAUGHTERS. 

Old Mother Church, a portly dame, 
Her daughters called around her ; 
For she had heard of many things 
That did somewhat astound her. 
• 
And when they came, the Mother said : 
"My daughters, give attention; 
And do not let your dander rise 
At what I 'm going to mention. 

"All of you know, as well as I, 
The world is prone to evil ; 
And even saints have fallen from grace 
In wrestling with the devil ; 

"But still, some of you may be saved, 
If you avoid temptation ; 
Put pennies in the missionary box, 
And strive for reformation. 

" But what I wish to say is this: 

My dears, don't tempt the preachers, 
For every week some of them fall 
From grace, though they be teachers. 

"I do not say it is your fault, 

That they from grace are falling : 
But where there 's lady-cats, my dears, 
Toms will go caterwauling." 

Said Wesley Ann, the Methodist : 
"Dear ma, I shall endeavor 
To prove, though I have often been 
Accused of misbehaviour, 



J 



SONGS AND SA TIRES. 1 7 7 

"That I, though sinful, am as good 
And have as much gentility 
As other folks ; especially those 
That claim infallibility ! 

"And if I do at love-feast kiss 
As fondly as the dove ; 
You know, dear ma, it is because 
The feast is one of love. 

"But if you think it is a sin, 
I '11 try, though I should fail, 
And give it up; but in the dark, 
Our nature is but frail." 

"Dear ma," said Presbyterian Jane, 
"It 's all original sin ; 
Our bodies are defiled without, 
Our souls corrupt within; 

"And even when we are asleep, 
Controlled by evil powers: 
And if our preachers fall, it is 
The devil's fault, not ours." 

"It's hard," said Mother Church, "to take 
Tricks out of an old horse, 
But still the scandal may be stopped, 
If you will take this course : 

"Avoid the preachers when they're young, 
Beware of the old coons, 
For the worst devil in the Church 
Is in the pantaloons." 



178 SONGS AND SATIRES. 



THERE IS NO MISTAKE ABOUT THAT. 

Be cheerful, ye toiling mechanics; 

Let your hearts be as light as a cork ! 
We very soon shall have officials 

As honest as those of New York ! 
No matter though trade goes to Chester, 

And makes things confoundedly flat, 
You have plenty of debt and taxation — 

There is no mistake about that ! 

Just look at the House of Correction, 

Where poor little rogues are confined ; 
And big ones supply them with butter ! 

What a blessing that is to mankind ! 
The place is most honestly managed, 

By Simpson & Co — and a cat ! 
Now do n't say the thing looks suspicious 1 

There is no mistake about that ! 

Moreover, a reservoir splendid, 

Upon the East Park you may view ; 
But whether the place will hold water 

When finished, depends upon Glue. 
It will exceed that now at Fairmount, 

By double the size of your hat, 
Now don't say there's swindling in it; 

There is no mistake about that ! 

We want at least two new bridges, 

Progression must not be restrained ; 
Without half a dozen more sewers, 

The city will never be drained ; 
And other Centennial improvements, 

Got up to make contractors fat, 
Now do n't say there 's millions in it ; 

There is no mistake about that ! 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 179 

Fault-finding is mean and ungrateful, 

No matter how much there is spent ; 
As the burden all falls on the landlord, 

The tenant pays nothing but rent. 
If there is a reduction of wages, 

No one ought to grumble thereat, 
Don't say it 's starvation and labor ; 

There is no mistake about that ! 

Care not though the debt is increasing, 

At ten thousand dollars a day ; 
The Councils can mortgage the city, 

By giving a promise to pay. 
If you don't see the blessing of freedom, 

You must be as blind as a bat, 
Now do n't say it is all a humbug ; 

There is no mistake about that ! 



THE CRY IS, STILL THEY STEAL. 

Within a hundred years we have — 

And in it take a pride — 
More progress made in Knavery 

Than all the world beside : 
To the almighty dollar all 

With pure devotion kneel ; 
And everywhere throughout the land 

The cry is, still they steal ! 

A mania for swindling 

Pervades the public mind ; 
Some rush ahead with argus eyes, 

And others go-it blind ; 
But he that grabs the biggest pile, 

Is deemed the most genteel, 
Applauded for his smartness, since 

The cry is, still they steal ! 



180 SONGS AND SATIRES. 

A school-house lot cannot be bought, 

Unless some one is fleeced ; 
As no assessor knows its worth 

Until his boots are greased. 
And where directors cannot read, 

There can be no appeal ; 
Except to rap on the School Board — 

The cry is, still they steal ! 



Dishonesty in triumph reigns ; 

Morality is a blank ; 
Defaulters in the counting-house, 

The church, and savings bank : 
And though the cloak of piety 

Too often doth conceal 
Hypocrisy, we daily hear 

The cry of, still they steal ! 



The knave with money at command, 

May at all justice scoff; 
The little rogues to jail are sent, 

The big ones are let off. 
It looks as if the ship of State 

Was foul about the keel, 
From Alderman to President, 

The cry is, still they steal ! 



In doing tricks as slick as grease, 

No one can us excel ; 
Our railroad stocks are Gross-ly Fry-ed, 

And watered, too, as well ; 
And honesty is known in Dutch, 

As very ausge spiel. 
If deviled crabs could speak, they 'd raise 

The cry of, still they steal ! 



SONGS AND SATIRES. 181 

For freedom's sake, let us rejoice 

That honesty is dwindling ; 
And hail the grand millenium 

Of universal swindling ! 
The masses (spelled without the m) 

As brothers all will feel : 
Sing, Hail Columbia ! Happy land ! 

The cry is, still they steal ! 



IN FRONT OF STATE-HOUSE ROW. 

A law there is, the papers say, 
Against obstructing the highway ; 

And if that should be so, 
Why are the babbling, lazy crowd, 
Of hungry hangers-on allowed 

In front of State-House Row? 

As thick they are as swarms of bees ; 
Around the doors, against the trees ; 

And parading to and fro : 
The purest patriots ever known, 
All anxious for a half-picked bone ; 

In front of State-House Row. 

Ex-aldermen and ex-police, 

Who freely would each other fleece, 

If they could richer grow ; 
With gamblers, burglars here and there, 
Pickpockets, men who "push the queer," 

In front of State-House Row. 

From morning until evening's close, 
They loaf around ; and poke their nose 

Wherever it will go : 
They whine for favors like a hound ; 
And squirt tobacco juice around, 

In front of State-House Row. 



i82 SONGS AND SATIRES. 

Ready to cut each other's throat, 
To go straw bail, or sell a vote, 

For any party blow ; 
By raking well, you could not get 
The like elsewhere, that may be met 

In front of State-House Row. 

The pathway is completely blocked ; 
And modesty too often shocked 

With language coarse and low, 
Used by the office-holding clique ; 
A nuisance six days of the week, 

In front of State-House Row. 

But, hear, oh ! renovating Pugh ! 

Ere you the scrubbing job get through, 

One favor, pray, bestow ; 
Which is, employ your broom some day, 
To sweep all the "dead beats" away, 

In front of State-House Row. 



When the great Centennial comes, 
If foreigners shall see the bums, 

They may think it a show 
Of judges, statesmen, patriots, 
Arranged for sale in sample lots, 

In front of State-House Row. 






SONGS AND SATIRES. 183 



PRETENSION AND REALITY. 

It is not in the costly church, 

With tinsel decked around ; 
It is not in the walnut pews, 

Where cushioned seats are found ; 
It is not in the pulpit, graced 

With decorations rare : 
I seek a God of humbleness — 

I cannot find him there. 

Not in the brown stone mansion, 

Where mirrors deck the wall ; 
And statues stand, as much adorned 

As Eve before her fall ; 
Where luxury and extravagance 

In every form appear : 
I seek a God of charity — 

I cannot find him there. 

It is not in the guarded bank, 

Where Mammon hath his throne ; 
It is not in the counting-house, 

Where interest reigns alone ; 
Nor is it in the grand bazar, 

Where merchants show their ware : 
I seek a God of honesty — 

I cannot find him there. 

It is not where Professors meet, 

Their meekness to express ; 
And honest worth is far less prized, 

Than wealth and costly dress ; 
Nor yet where the Y. M. C. A. 

Together meet in prayer : 
I seek a God of truth and right — 

I cannot find him there. 



1 84 SONGS AND SATIRES. 

But in the forest and the field, 

And in the fragrant bower, 
A Voice I hear, a Hand I see, 

In insect and in flower ; 
Upon the rugged mountain-side, 

And in the desert drear, 
Look where I will in Nature's works, 

I find God everywhere ! 



NINETY CENTS A DAY. 

That this is a free country, 

There 's no one can deny ; 
As every one may freely starve 

Who has not cash to buy. 
No other land is half so blest ; 

No people half so gay ; 
Thrice happy land, where workingmen 

Get ninety cents a day. 

Let one and all, the great and small, 
Unite and shout, hooray ! 

Down with all pauper labor — we 
Get ninety cents a day. 

Whilst poverty in other lands 

The poor man's prospects blight, 
We live like kings; and better still, 

The black 's as good as white ! 
And does it matter though the boss 

Skedaddles with our pay ? 
Who cares about a trifling loss 

From ninety cents a day ? 









SONGS AND SATIRES. 185 

With everything so prosperous, 

What need the poor man fear? 
But sit and smoke the best cigars, 

And drink his lager beer, 
Though flour and meat and rent are high, 

Can 't he afford to pay, 
And feast, too, like a gentleman, 

On ninety cents a day? 

As long as freedom's banner waves 

Triumphant overhead, 
And freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

No tyranny we dread ; 
Bring out the band in freedom's cause, 

And let the music play, 
"Hail Columbia! Happy land!" — 

And ninety cents a day ! 





MISCELLANEOUS. 



THE LONE WIFE. 

Lonely and drearily, 
Time passeth wearily ; 

Why comes he not ? 
Gloomy thoughts cross my mind, 
How shall I comfort find ? 

Am I forgot? 

Hope is dispelled by fear, 
At every sound I hear 

Passing the door. 
Midnight approacheth fast ; 
Mournfully howls the blast : 

God help the poor ! 

He ne'er was wont to stay, 
When I was young and gay : 

Has his love flown ? 
No, no ! that cannot be ; 
True love can never flee : 

Still, still alone ! 
186 



MISCELLANEOUS. 187 

Footsteps again I hear, 
Now they are drawing near ; 

Hark ! He has come ! 
Yes ! He unlocks the door ; 
Thank God, he is once more 

Safely at home ! 



TO MY WIFE'S PET CANARY. 

Happy in thy prison home, 

In thy coat of yellow ; 
Hopping up and jumping down, 

Sprightly little fellow ! 

Singing joyfully all day, 
Free from care and sadness ; 

Feasting on the tiny seed, 
With a heart of gladness. 

Peeping here, and clinging there, 

Busy little creature ; 
Kindness, though thou art confined, 

Has changed thy very nature. 

Welcoming thy mistress 

With a salutation; 
Seeming but to live and. love 

Without reservation. 

Carefully with head concealed 
Beneath thy wing of yellow ; 

Sleeping calmly through the night, 
Happy little fellow ! 



1 88 MISCELLANEOUS. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Though birth and wealth may honor claim, 
There is an humble ploughman's name 
That far eclipses all the fame 

Which title earns ; 
It is old Scotland's pride and shame — 

Immortal Burns ! 

An independent mind had he, 
From prejudice and envy free ; 
With a few faults, like you and me, 

Though knaves may scout them ; 
But in the world where do we see 

A man without them ? 

With jovial friends he loved to pass 
An hour, and drink a social glass ; 
Or walk amid the dewy grass, 

At morning early ; 
But best to kiss a bonnie lass, 

'Mid rigs o' barley. 

Hypocrisy he did detest, 

Though clothed in lawn or russet dress' d ; 

Nor would he be a fawning guest 

To Duke or Lord ; 
But honesty by him was bless' d, 

And truth adored. 

He suffered in the cause of right, 
Like many another genius bright, 
Because he dared to speak and write 

Against transgression ; 
Though poor, he scorned to cringe to might, 

Or aid oppression. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 189 

Brief was his life, with scarce a ray 
Of hope to cheer his lonely way ; 
Spurned by the thoughtless and the gay, 

Alas ! he died, 
Neglected ; but his name to-day, 

Is Scotland's pride. 

And while the " Doon rins wimplin clear,'' 
The thistle does its head uprear, 
And bonnie heather flowers appear, 

Or spring returns ; 
Old Scotland will the name revere 

Of Robert Burns ! 



SCATTER THEM OVER. 

Gather the wild flowers from forest and field ; 
The sweet-scented violet, the fragrant clover ; 

Visit the lowly bed 

Where lie the silent dead : 
Scatter them over, scatter them over ! 

Make no distinction 'twixt the blue and the gray ; 
Nature bestows upon each a green cover: 

Free as the grass that grows, 

Mingle the bay and the rose : 
Scatter them over, scatter them over ! 

Ask not who lies below ; peace be your mission ; 
Try not the things which are past to uncover : 
Gather the flowers gay, 
Sweetest that bloom in May : 
Scatter them over, scatter them over ! 



i 9 o MISCELLANEOUS. 

OLD BOOKS. 

Old books ! Who does not love them ? For they are 

a priceless store : 
The pleasure of the wealthy and the solace of the poor: 
They tell us of departed friends, of joy and sorrow fled : 
Old books ! Who does not love them ? They are rec- 
ords of the dead : 

They are relics of those nations which have fallen to 
decay ; 

The remnants of an ancient race who once was blithe 
and gay; 

Of poets and philosophers, historians of yore : 

Then spare their antique treasures, for they are a price- 
less store ! 

I love to sit alone and con each time-worn, hallow'd 

page: 
The wisdom of the anchorite, the statesman, and the sage; 
And ponder o'er those good old times, the merry days 

of old : 
Old books ! Who does not prize them ? They are 

worth their weight in gold ! 

What thrilling tales of flood and field those stain' d old 

volumes tell : 
Legends both wild and wonderful of mountain and of 

dell! 
They tell of castles, courts, and kings ; of hamlet and 

of hall : 
Then spare the stain 'd old volumes ! Pray, spare them, 

great and small ! 

What pleasure to recall those tales we read long, long 

ago: 
"Arabian Nights," "Telemachus," and "Robinson 

Crusoe," 



MISCELLANEOUS. 191 

The "Romance of the Forest," and the "Children in 

the Wood;" 
"Jane Shore," the "Cottage on the Cliff," and famous 

"Robin Hoool." 

Here is a little volume, a present from a friend ; 

That dear old phrase, "Forget me not," upon its page 

is penn'd ; 
A relic from the battle-field, besmear'd with dark red 

stains ; 
Preserve the sad memorial whilst a single leaf remains ! 

These rare old books inform us of the times men's souls 

were tried : 
How Warren for his country fell ; how Mercer fought 

and died ; 
Of Franklin, Adams, Hancock, Paine, Lee, Morris, 

Jefferson, 
Gates, Allen, Marion, Putnam, Wayne, Paul Jones, and 

Washington. 

Without these records of the past what could we ever 

learn 
Of Smollet, Walcott, Rabelais, Cervantes, Swift, or 

Sterne ? 
Of Clarendon, Lingard, Chaucer, Gay, Warburton, 

Burnet, Blair, 
Hobbs, Tyndal, Bolingbroke, Rousseau, Hume, Volney, 

and Voltaire? 

Moreover, what illustrious names adorn each antique 
page: 

Bede, Bacon, Shakespeare, Newton, Locke — the glory 
of their age ! 

"O rare Ben Jonson !" Blackstone, Stowe, Fox, Syd- 
ney, Wolsey, Tooke, 

Ray, Hampden, Hogarth, Akenside, Burke, Lyttleton, 
and Coke. 



192 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Old melancholy Burton, who has not thy pages read ? 
The only book which could entice old Johnson out of bed : 
With Beaumont, Fletcher, Massinger, Prior, Goldsmith, 

Spenser, Rowe, 
Ames, Walton, Cowley, Addison, Steel, Drayton, and 

De Foe. 

The precious old black-letter lore from vandals save, I 

pray ! 
Of Caxton, Wyer, Wynkin de Worde, Faques, Pynson, 

Grafton, Day, 
Gowghe, Copeland, Pepwell, Berthelet, Treveris, Banks, 

Restell, 
Wolf, Norton, Gibson, Fawkes, Lettau, Skot, Redman, 

and Bydell. 

The famous old astrologers treat not with disregard : 
Agrippa, Plamstead, Parkinson, Culpepper, and Ge- 

rarde, 
Partridge, Blagrave, Lovell, Brown, Lilly, Turner, Cole, 
Aubrey, Sibley, Pliny, Dee, Hall, Parker, and Ashmole. 

Though soil'd by age, of cover shorn, to save stretch 

forth a hand, 
John Calvin, Wickliffe, Luther, Clarke, Tillotson, 

Bourne, and Brande ; 
Grose, Dibdin, Gilbert, White, Charles Lamb, Strutt, 

Ritson, Hone, and Knox ; 
Winstanley, Camden, Holland, Wood, John Bunyan, 

and George Fox. 

No matter whether new or old, such precious treasures 
spare 

As Wordsworth, Percy, Shelley, Crabbe, Pope, Butler, 
Byron, Clare, 

Moore, Dryden, Milton, Cowper, Scott, Young, Camp- 
bell, Thomson, Miller, 

Gray, Fielding, Coleridge, Boswell, Dante, Beranger, 
Goethe, Schiller. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 193 

Preserve old Cotton Mather, Prescott, Edwards, Sparks, 
Barlow, 

Longfellow, Goodrich, Motley, Neal, Wirt, Irving, Ab- 
bott, Poe, 

Sigourney, Whittier, Marshall, Dwight, Drake, Cooper, 
Hamilton, 

Praed, Watson, Bryant, Bancroft, Holmes, Dow, Wil- 
son, Audubon. 

Charles Mackey and Eliza Cook ! inscribe each honor'd 

name, 
With Massey, Elliott, Howitt, Hood, upon the scroll 

of fame. 
They sang the songs of humble worth — the poets of the 

poor; 
Then spare their precious treasures ; for they are a 

priceless store ! 

Montgomery, Wesley, Watts, and Burns, are names for- 
ever dear : 

For Collins, Otway, Chatterton, let fall a silent tear ! 

Poor Keats and White ! they droop'd and died like 
leaves before the blast : 

Old books ! old books ! They are the sad memorials 
of the past ! 

Though, like old Rip Van Winkle, they in libraries 
may sleep 

For years; be prey'd upon by moths, and spiders o'er 
them creep ; 

They are the archives of the world, of ancient, modern lore : 

Preserve them ! for, if once destroy' d, they 're lost for- 
ever more ! 

Adieu, old dusty tomes, adieu ! I know at last you must 
Become, like man, the food for worms, and mingle with 

the dust ; 
But let us spare them ; use them well as long as both 

shall last ; 
They are the records of the dead ! the relics of the past ! 



i 9 4 MISCELLANEOUS. 



TO MY OLD PIPE. 

Friend of my solitude, priceless to me ! 
Oft have I found consolation in thee ; 
Dearly beloved little relic of clay, 
Helping to drive melancholy away. 

The sultan may smoke his fine hookah in state, 
And meerschaum be used by the wealthy and great ; 
I envy not either in any degree, 
My little dudheen is as precious to me. 

When filled with good Lynchburg, no one can provoke 
Me, as I gaze on the blue, curling smoke ; 
In visions of fancy diffuse through the air, 
Cheering the mind amidst troubles and care. 

Those may condemn thee, who never have tried 
Thy soothing virtue, when sorrows betide ; 
But foolish fanatics may say what they will, 
A social companion to me thou art still. 

In thee an emblem of truth I discern, 
When in thy bowl the tobacco I burn ; 
Time flies like smoke, and in ashes we end, 
But welcome through life, ever trusty old friend. 

But, when a few dreary years have flown past, 
Battered and broken, both of us, at last, 
In mother earth shall commingle our clay, 
Faithful companion in life and decay. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 195 



TOBACCO. 

Indian weed, of magic power ; 
Companion of a lonely hour ; 
Solace of the bound and free ; 
Millions daily worship thee ! 

Far and near thy fame is known ; 
Rich and poor thy virtues own ; 
On the land, and on the sea, 
Every nation worships thee ! 

Civilized and savage, too ; 
Heathen, Christian, Turk, and Jew ; 
All with one accord agree 
In paying homage unto thee. 

Though cursed by monarch and divine, 
Ever at thy soothing shrine 
Rival sects before thee bow ; 
No false worshiper hast thou. 

By the busy multitude, 

With delight smoked, snuffed, or chewed ; 

From the poorest gypsy clan, 

To the Sultan's rich divan. 

In the hookah, clay dudheen ; 
Box, pouch, paper, thou art' seen ; 
Pulverized, cut, pressed, and coil'd ; 
Pure Havana, fragrant, mild. 

Gods of old their nectar sipped ; 
But, from a meerschaum, amber-tipped, 
Let me thy fragrant smoke inhale, 
Sweeter than the spicy gale ! 



1 96 MISCELLANEOUS. 



TRUE INDEPENDENCE. 

I court no one's favor, I fear no one's frown ; 

Men's opinions are nothing to me ; 
I 've got something better by far of my own : 

A mind independent and free ! 

With candor I speak what I think to be true, 

Regardless of whom it offend ; 
Unbiassed by party, the actions review, 

Of either a foe or a friend. 

If a man dare not speak, make his sentiments known, 

He might just as well be a mute ; 
For nothing but reason, and reason alone, 

Distinguishes man from the brute. 

Truth and falsehood may grapple ; but give them fair 
play, 

Who ever knew truth overthrown ? 
And all hail the man who has courage to say, 

I will have a mind of my own ! 

The tyrant may grant, but can not give a right. 

For rights are inherent in all. 
To deny free opinion, what is it but might, 

Which fain would all reason enthral. 

Let parasites flatter and hypocrites fawn, 

Wherever a favor is shown ; 
But I honor the man, dress' d in homespun or lawn, 

That dare have a mind of his own ! 

What I claim for myself, I will never refuse 

To either the bond or the free ; 
Let others submit to whatever they choose, 

But true independence for me ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 197 



PLEASURE AND REST. 

Put on thy Sunday clothes, lass, 

The day is warm and fair; 
And let us leave our pent-up home, 

And breathe the country air : 
Six days we have been toiling, lass, 

In the heated factory room ; 
Now let us take a stroll, lass, 

And see the wild flowers bloom. 

We have but little time, lass, 

If truth must be confessed ; 
And Sunday is our only day 

For pleasure and for rest. 
I know we shall be blamed, lass, 

Denied a place in Heaven, 
By those at ease who feast and cant 

Six days out of the seven. 

But never mind for that, lass, 

Let us enjoy an hour: 
To close the Book of Nature, 

Is beyond the bigot's power ! 
And those may blame who choose, lass, 

Our hearts they cannot search ; 
God is not always worshiped, 

By those who go to church. 



1 98 MISCELLANEOUS. 



BACON AND SHAKESPEARE. 

What was* Lord Verulam ? At the most, 

A philosophic finger-post, 

Who on the verge of science stood 

And theorized about the road ; 

A courtier fawning to excess 

To gain a favor from Queen Bess ; 

A traitor to acquire an end j 

A loyalist to defame a friend ; 

A lawyer, politician, scribe ; 

A judge, but not above a bribe ; 

In life despised, in death forsaken, 

An overrated man was Bacon. 

What was Will Shakespeare ? Poet, sage, 
Star of the Elizabethan age ; 
Honored in life, in death adored 
More than a king, a pope, a lord ! 
Two hundred years have passed away, 
And still he rules the stage to-day ; 
And thousands bow before his shrine, 
And hail him as the "Bard Divine ;" 
And England will his name revere 
Whilst Britain lives to Shake a Spear ! 



NEGLECT. 

It is not sense, it is not taste, 
That guides the busy throng ; 

As madly as the savage beast, 
They onward rush along ! 

And if a man has wealth and power, 
They laud him to the sky ; 

If poor, like a lone desert flower, 
They let him droop and die ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 199 



THE CHEERING RAY. 

Hail ! blessed star, that shines so bright, 

To guide us on our way ; 
Our lives would be a gloomy night, 

Without thy cheering ray. 

'Tis thou that mak'st the youthful heart 
With pride and rapture glow ; 

More pleasure to the aged impart, 
Than riches can bestow. 

When misery, want, and wretchedness, 
O'erwhelm the mind with care, 

Thou as an angel com'st to bless, 
And bid us not despair \ 

Whispering softly in the ear, 

In sickness and in pain : 

" Have faith, for I am ever near 

To raise thee up again !" 

Thus Hope, when sorrows on us crowd, 

And tears bedim the eye, 
Comes like the sun from out a cloud, 

And brightens up the sky. 

For, like the cheerful orb, it throws 

Around its genial rays ; 
And bids us still in calm repose, 

To wait for better days ! 



MISCELLANE O US. 



THE PRIDE OF MAN. 

Men in learning may excel, 

Boast of wisdom, common sense ; 

But the wisest cannot tell 

What will happen six months hence : 

With all our knowledge here below, 

What do we of the future know ? 

Life 's an ever-changing scene, 

And as frail as flowers that bloom ; 

Joys and sorrows intervene, 
From the cradle to the tomb : 

When fifty years have passed away, 

They seem but as a summer's day. 

Though we wealth and power attain, 
And have servants at our call, 

Every pleasure hath its pain : 
Men like nations rise and fall, 

Leaving but an empty name 

Of all their grandeur, wealth, or fame. 

What is all our earthly pride ? 

Youth and manhood, joy and sorrow; 
Days and moments swiftly glide, 

Here to-day, but gone to-morrow : 
Peer and peasant, king and slave, 
All are equal in the grave ! 



MISCELLANE O US. 



THE CEMETERY GATE. 

As'old Joe sat at the cemetery gate, 

His hair was more white than gray ; 
He raised his head as a hearse passed in, 

And thus to himself did say: 
"Another is going to his long, long home, 

Under the grass and the fern : 
They come, they go, the old and the young ; 

But none of them ever return ! 

"All, all are traveling on the same road ; 

The high as well as the low ; 
And all are equal that pass this way, 

Excepting in outward show. 
For rich and poor alike decay 

Under the grass and fern : 
They come, they go, the old and the young ; 

But none of them ever return ! 

"Thus time moveth on and spareth none ; 

The humble, as well as the proud, 
Before it bow, and are scarcely missed 

When they fall from the living crowd ; 
And in a few years are forgotten quite, 

Under the grass and fern : 
They come, they go, the old and the young ; 

But none of them ever return ! 

"The granite shaft and the marble slab 

May stand the winter's blast; 
But in the end they crumble away, 

And are battered down at last : 
Neglected and broken in fragments they lie, 

Under the grass and fern : 
They come, they go, but where ? none know ! 

As none of them ever return ! 



MIS CELL A NE O US. 



A DAY IN CAMP 

AT BERMUDA HUNDRED, JAMES RIVER, VIRGINIA, 
MAY 2 2, 1864. 

First the life and drum 

Sound the morning reveille, 
Making such a din 

Enough to rouse the devil. 

The trumpet then is blown, 

To rouse the reg'ment, 
One would almost think 

It was the day of judgment. 

Then the boys get up, 

But not from beds of feather ; 

And rush out to wash, 
Two or three together. 

Water dark with mud, 

Stinking soap, not plenty, 
Towels rough and scarce ; 

One for wiping twenty. 

A fire then is made, 

With wood stole from the fences ; 
In kettles, pots, and pans, 

Cooking now commences. 

Coffee first is made 

In a greasy kettle, 
Dirty sugar put in — 

Placed aside to settle. 

Then slices of fat pork, 

Looking rather black, 
Are put in a pan 

And fried up with hard tack. 






MISCELLANEOUS. 203 

Making such a mess, 

It would be hard to beat it ; 
But please bear this in mind — 

Generals do not eat it ! 

They get cake and wine, 

And play the very dickens 
With whisky and segars, 

Roast beef, ham, eggs, and chickens. 

Now a call is made 

For the man of physic 
To come with his quinine, 

And cure chills, gripes, and phthisic. 

Another row is made 

When the guard is mounted, 
At the muster roll 

All the men are counted. 

Dinner call comes next, 

But there is a lack 
Of everything but beans, 

Coffee, pork, and tack. 

For an hour or two, 

The men now take their leisure ; 
Stroll around the camp, 

Do anything for pleasure. 

Some are playing cards, 

Cheating, lying, swearing ; 
Some are writing home ; 

Some their clothes repairing ; 

Some are talking news ; 

Some, like Abe, are joking ; 
Some are singing songs ; 

Some are busy smoking ; 






204 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Some are at the stream, 
For it is very common 

For a man to be 

His own washer-woman. 

Now the man of God 

Has commenced his teaching - T 
Instead of peace and love, 

He war and hate is preaching. 

Until the supper call, 
There is an intermission, 

When coffee, pork, and tack 
Come into requisition. 

The tattoo and the tap 

Finish up the day, 
And those that do the least 

Fare best and get most pay ! 



HYDRANT WATER. 

Reading is a dirty place ; 

The folks not very clever ; 
And from the streets the filth all runs 

Into the Schuylkill River. 

All the swill of Phcenixville, 
From the town and rolling mill, 
Sweetens the water of the Schuylkill. 

At Norristown the filth runs down, 

And so at Conshohocken, 
And mixes with the dirty stream, 

Called Schuylkill — ain't it shocking! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 205 

Sewage, garbage, and swill, from gas-work and mill, 

Run-in at Manayunk ; 
Which makes the Schuylkill water smell 

Almost as sweet as a skunk. 

Waste chemicals and lye, 
Carpet washings and dye, 

Run into the stream at the Falls, 
The Philadelphians grumble — but 

Are forced to swallow all. 

Now is it not nice ? oh, is it not nice ? 

And no one to blame 
But Jack Frost and the ice : 

Och, hone ! Mister Fadden, 

Your theory 's a bad 'un. 



CONFESSIONS OF A LOAF. 

To think I should increase in size 

Is really quite presumption ; 
When I, for two years past, have been 

Dying of consumption ! 

The Bakers have determined, too, 

To hasten my disaster ; 
For I am forced, each day, to take 

Potatoes, alum, plaster ! 

Therefore, good people, do n't complain 

To see my form diminished ; 
For, 'twixt cheats and drugs and want of flour, 

I wonder I ain't finished ! 

(1855-) 



206 MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE CONGRESS OF NATIONS. 



A CENTENNIAL REVERIE. 



Old Progress stood on a mountain peak, 

An artisan great was he ; 
And said, as he looked upon the land, 

And gazed across the sea : 
" Nations and States they rise and fall, 

The old giving place to the new ; 
But I march onward from age to age, 

And still find something to do. 

"Now I will a Congress of Nations convene, 

Assembling the weak and the strong ; 
And each shall its record of labor display, 

In behalf of the right against wrong. 
I say that a wreath the prize shall be, 

To the nation that leadeth the van, 
Irrespective of age, in doing the most 

For the good of the workingman." 

A message was sent to each country around, 

Inviting them all to appear ; 
And a delegate came from every one 

Well skilled in his nation's career; 
And when the assemblage together met, 

To each one a place was assigned ; 
And they were by Progress requested to tell 

The good they had done for mankind. 

First stood up a Hindoo, who bowed to the East, 

As he said, "All our records disclose 
The facts that man, civilization, and law 

And morals in India rose ; 
And from them the arts and the sciences grew, 

Which onward for ages have rolled ; 
And ages to-day are confirming our claim 

As the father of nations of old." 



MISCELLANEOUS. 207 

"The claim I dispute not," Old Progress replied ; 
"Be thy nation as old as the sun ; 
I care not for theory, for preaching, or pride, 

But judge by the good which is done. 
Now, what has your nation performed for mankind ? 

Has it made them more happy and free ? 
Oh, no ! but made Caste, that pretenders might shine : 
I award not the laurel to thee 1" 



Then rose an Egyptian and gravely he said, 
"Our Pyramids, they are sublime : 
For five thousand years they in triumph have stood, 

Defying the tooth of old Time. 
The ruins of Memphis, the ruins of Thebes, 

Are gazed on with wonder to-day ; 
My nation was mighty in those days of yore ; 

Although it has long passed away !" 

"Indeed it was great," Old Progress replied; 
"Its ruins attest to its fame ; 
But it failed in its mission, and all it has left 

To the world is a mere empty name. 
For what did it do for the good of mankind ? 

Did it make them more happy and free ? 
Oh, no ! but in bondage compelled them to toil : 
I award not the laurel to thee !" 

Next, a Grecian stood forth. "Look at Athens," 

said he, 
"Her temples, her sculpture so grand ! 
Her poets, her statesmen, her learning, her laws, 

Her victories, on sea and on land ! 
Although in the course of events she has lost 

Her grandeur, as well as her sway, 
Still proud in her ruins she yet nobly stands 
The model of nations to-day !" 



208 MISCELLANEOUS. 

"Old Progress replied, " In her learning and laws 

She acted both wisely and well ; 
But, torn into fragments by faction and feud, 

She failed in her mission and fell. 
But what did she do for the good of mankind ? 

Did she make them more happy and free ? 
Oh, no ! but in bondage compelled them to toil : 

I award not the laurel to thee !" 



Then a stern old Roman arose and said, 
"Though others may merit some praise, 
But when did there ever a nation exist 

Like Rome in her glorious days ? 
Her Caesars were mighty and carried her arms 

Through Carthage, through Britain and Gaul, 
And her old Coliseum in ruins still shows 

Her greatness preceding her fall." 



"I own she was powerful," Progress replied, 
"In conquest none could her excel, 
But by luxury, vice, and ambition combined, 

She failed in her mission and fell ! 
But what did she do for the good of mankind ? 

Did she make them more happy and free ? 
Oh, no ! but compelled them as bondsmen to toil : 
I award not the laurel to thee ! 



Then came forth a Spaniard, most haughty and proud, 

And said, "Other nations may shine, 
But the greatest in brightness has been but a star 

Compared to the sun unto mine ! 
A New World was given by her to the Old, 

And naught could her conquests restrain : 
Columbus, Pizarro, De Soto, Cortez, 

Attest to the glory of Spain ! ' ' 



MISCELLANEOUS. 209 

"It's true," said Old Progress, "her power was great, 

But by crime it was sadly alloyed ; 
For she acted the tyrant, made millions of slaves, 

And many a nation destroyed ! 
But what has she done for the good of mankind ? 

Has she made them more happy and free ? 
Oh, no ! but in bondage compelled them to toil : 

I award not the laurel to thee !" 



The next was a Russian. "Our Empire," said he, 
" In Europe is greatest of all ! 
Extending in Asia; and forward we look 

When the Crescent before us shall fall ! 
Our march has been onward from Peter the Great, 

And to Constantinople must be; 
Let Moscow attest to our records of old : 

And our serfs are from bondage set free." 



Old Progress replied : "In the North you are great, 

And your power we cannot but own ; 
But Hungary and Poland, as brave as yourselves, 

What mercy to them have you shown ? 
And what have you done for the good of mankind ? 

Have you made them more happy and free? 
Oh, no ! but the poor for their nobles must toil : 

I award not the laurel to thee I" 



A bold, sturdy Briton next stood up and said, 
"Our island, although it is small, 
For commerce, for art, and for science, to-day 

Bids an earnest defiance to all ! 
The sun never sets on her boundless domain ; 

And endless her wealth all agree ; 
Her language is spoken all over the globe, 

And her ensign floats every sea !" 



210 MISCELLANEOUS. 

"We know her position," Old Progress replied, 
" Her commerce, her wealth, and her fame ; 
And if from her chains she would Ireland free, 

All nations might honor her name ! 
But what has she done for her workingman ? 
Has she made him more happy and free ? 
Oh, no ! but compels him to toil for the rich : 
I award not the laurel to thee !" 

Columbia then rose and proudly did speak : 
"A continent owns to my sway ! 
From ocean to ocean my empire extends, 

And westward still marches away ! 
My subjects are equal and govern themselves, 

By church and by king uncontrolled ! 
And over them all waves the flag of the free, 

And I 'm young, not a hundred years old." 






"Well done!" said Old Progress, "Well done, and 
all hail ! 

Upon thee the prize must sure fall ; 
Untrammeled by kings and priestcraft as well, 

The youngest and greatest of all ! 
For thou hast done more for the hard-working man, 

To make him both happy and free, 
Than all other nations together combined : 
The wreath I award unto thee ! 

"Now take it and wear it ! It fresh will remain, 

The while you act wisely and well ; 
And remember, it was by ambition and vice, 

The republics of ancient times fell. 
Beware of dishonesty, faction, and strife ; 

Let justice in all things prevail ; 
Fail not in thy mission, or certain as fate 

The wreath of thy glory will fail !" 



MISCELLANE O US. 



EQUALITY. 

To cheating, lying, whining cant, 
Bombastic zeal, all kinds of rant ; 
Like Macbeth, let us cry avaunt ! 

Vile humbugs, hence ! 
Too long they have been a disgrace ; 
Befooled one- half the human race; 
Let them begone ! henceforth give place 

To common sense. 

Blockheads may make ten thousand laws, 
They are not worth as many straws ; 
For what conflicts with nature's cause, 

Fails in the sequel. 
Man might as well attempt to fly ; 
With sieve to lade the ocean dry ; 
It would as easy be, as try 

To make men equal. 

There is between the black and white, 
As distinct as the day from night, 
A barrier, be it wrong or right ; 

All men may trace it : 
And has been there through every age, 
According to historic page, 
Defying sinner, saint, and sage 

For to erase it. 

In every clime, no matter where, 
It has been, is, and will be there ; 
And tells in language, plain and clear, 

To every nation : 
All human efforts are in vain, 
Though fools and madmen strive and strain 
To equalize or mix the twain 

By amalgamation. 



MISCELLANE O US. 

Then let us wisely, come what may, 
Pursue the tenor of our way, 
Regardless what fanatics say, 

And shun all quarrels. 
Leave nature to work out its end, 
And try each other to befriend, 
And if there 's anything to mend, 

Let it be morals ! 



FIRST AND SECOND MORTGAGE. 

"Although," said Mike to Pat, " I long 
Have known the price of beans ; 
Be jabers, if I understand 

What second mortgage means." 

Quoth Pat : " It is a railroad dodge, 

Got up to hide mis-trust, 
The second mortgage is to pay 

The interest on the first." 



A NURSERY RHYME. 

It drizzles, it showers, 
It rains, and it pow-ers — 

The Quakers have come to town, 
With big umbrellas and broad-brim hats, 

And swallow-tail coats of brown. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 213 



INVITATION TO CENTENNIAL POETS. 

Old things patched up and made to look like new ; 
Songs, odes, or verses, anything will do ; 
Rhythm and sense are two things not required ; 
The worst of rhymes are oft the most admired. 

Don't imitate the doggerel of that lot 

Of wretched rhymsters : Byron, Moore, and Scott ; 

But let your verses run as smooth as oil, 

And somewhat in the New York Ledger style. 

Facts, too, avoid, the age of truth 's gone by ; 
But use soft soap, well blended up with lye ; 
It never fails a writer's fame to raise ; 
And pays the best in these enlightened days. 

Be not dismay'd, though we have had before 
A thousand poets ; there is room for more ! 
And fame 's for those who have the brains to win it. 
A poem 's a poem, though there is nothing in it. 

Pegasus waits ! now who says "first" to stride 
His back ? The black as well as white may ride. 
And if to mount by some mishap you fail, 
Just tie your paper to Pegasus' tail ! 

Now is the time for each aspiring bard, 
From Primary School to College of Girard ; 
There never was so good a chance for fame ; 
The smallest may immortalize his name. 

Make no pretensions of the want of cheek, 
A hundred themes there are for those who seek. 
It needs no sense — the thing required is brass, 
Mixed and spun out with patriotic gas. 



214 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Therefore, commence ! there must be no delay, 
The great Centennial needs two odes a day ; 
The length no object — inch or yard or mile — 
But all must be in true "spread-eagle style." 

If your effusions fail to find a place 

In the newspaper, for the want of space ; 

Do n't tear them up, or throw them in the fire, 

As paper-makers take them by the quire ! 

Be not cast down, whatever may betide, 
There is a balm, should failure wound your pride : 
In every town a rag-store may be found, 
And paper waste is worth a cent a pound. 

There 's consolation, though your lofty strains 
Drown in the pulp tub ; solace still remains : 
Have faith, and perhaps some future day you will 
Their ghost encounter in "a dollar-bill !" 



THE DEVIL AND THE SAINTS. 

In spite of prayers and cash and sneers, 
The Devil gets most volunteers. 

There were five saints who worshiped cash, 
And hoped to have a chest of it ; 

Laid out a place near to Cape May — 
But that is not the best of it. 

A Paradise it was to be, 

To everything known west of it; 
And Satan have no foothold there — 

But that is not the best of it. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 215 

Scarce wood enough for Jersey crow- 
Was there to build a nest of it ; 

Although the place was Sea Grove called — 
But that is not the best of it. 

But, ah ! there was a Lily Lake, 

Mosquitos were the pest of it, 
That never had a lily in — 

But that is not the best of it. 

A carriage-road around it run, 

Which was, to say the least of it, 
A rather broadway for the saints — 

But that is not the best of it.' 

A boarding-house was there so pure, 

No sinner could be a guest of it ; 
The bill of fare was "soup and prayer" — 

But that is not the best of it. 

Whisky was, by the Saints, forbid, 

And those who were in quest of it, 
Must slyly stray, far as Cape May — 

But that is not the best of it. 

It was, indeed, a holy place, 

Prayer meetings were the zest of it ; 

Until the cottage lots were bought— 
But that is not the best of it. 

And then, oh ! -then, old Nick got in, 

And made a grand conquest of it ; 
Blue, burning brimstone killed blue law — 

But that is not the best of it. 

And now the place is to be sold, 

The Lake and all the rest of it ; 
The reason why — it does not pay — 

But that is not the best of it. 



2i 6 MISCELLANEOUS. 

The Saints will give their charter up, 

As time has made a jest of it, 
To any one who wants to buy — 

But that is not the best of it. 

As whisky mills may now be run, 

And no one make a test of it; 
And supersede the Sunday-school — 

But that is not the best of it. 

Now zealous dupes who spent their cash, 
And thought themselves so blest of it, 

Must leave or join in Satan's crowd — 
But that is not the best of it. 

Who lost, who gained, who have been tricked ? 

There is no manifest of it ; 
Or yet how many lies were told — 

But that is not the best of it. 

But pious humbug has gone up, 
Fraud branded on the crest of it ; 

And the Devil has fairly whipped the Saints, 
And that is what 's the best of it. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Mind, I don't say the tale is true, 

The middle, end, or first of it ; 
But take it just for what it 's worth — 

And make the best and worst of it. 




POLITICAL. 



THE EVE OF ELECTION. 

" There 's small choice in rotten apples." 

— Shakspeare. 

'Twas the eve of election, and scores of cut-throats 
Had been colonized for the sake of their votes ; 
The Knavey Yard, too, filled with loafers, to shirk 
And barter their votes for a paltry week's work : 
The Bosses had all the returns cut and dried, 
To give a majority on their own side ; 
And bummers were happy, as happy could be ; 
As lunches were plenty and whisky was free ! 

The candidates were just as busy, as bees, 
In hope of an office with plenty of fees ; 
And promising those that would aid in their plan, 
If they were elected, a sop in the pan: 
But if what they said of each other be true, 
The Devil has surely been robbed of his due, 
For rogues altogether they doubtless must be ; 
But such patriots rule in the land of the free ! 
p 217 



218 POLITICAL. 

The streets had for* months been both dirty and mean ; 

As not a street-sweeper around could be seen ; 

But now there were scores, as it must be confessed 

That a scavenger's vote is as good as the best : 

But after election it seems rather queer 

How quickly the Knights of the Broom disappear ; 

But what becomes of them is nothing to me, 

As all men are kings in the land of the free ! 



In workshops, horse railroads — but why, I don't say — 
The men had been told in a round-about way, 
That work would be scarce for those that were cross 
And did not vote on the same side as the boss. 
Of course every one might do just as he chose, 
But woe be to him that the mandate refused ! 
Yet no such a thing as coercion can be, 
For equality reigns in the land of the free ! 



At each precinct house the police had control, 

To catch all repeaters that came to the poll ; 

But their capture, I 'd almost forgotten to note, 

Depended on how they intended to vote. 

That the judges were honest, of course, you might swear, 

The ballot-box guarded with caution and care, 

Determined no stuffing whatever should be, 

Except by themselves, as elections are free ! 



Moreover, large placards were posted around, 

Proclaiming, if illegal voters were found 

And detected in voting, they would without fail, 

Be tried, and if guilty be sentenced to jail. 

Though some folks declared there could not be a doubt 

If convicted the Governor would pardon them out ; 

But of course such a statement untruthful must be, 

As Governors are pure in the land of the free ! 



POLITICAL. 219 

But now for the voting ! Walk up to the hole, 

And if you have paid fifty cents on your poll, 

First give in your name, then, as sly as a fox, 

Hand in your ticket to put in the box ; 

But be sure and believe that your nearest of kin 

Can never discover what vote you put in ; 

The farce being over, set out on a spree ; 

Get drunk, shout, and fight for the land of the free ! 



SING A SONG OF GREENBACKS. 

A FEDERAL NURSERY RHYME. 

Sing a song of greenbacks, 

A pocket full of trash ! 
Over head and ears in debt, 

And out of ready cash ; 
Heaps of tax collectors, 

As busy as a bee ; 
Ain't we in a pretty fix, 

With gold at fifty-three ! 

Abe in the White House, 

Proclamations writing ; 
Meade on the Rapidan, 

Afraid to do the fighting ; 
Seward in the Cabinet, 

Surrounded by his. spies ; 
Halleck with the telegraph, 

Busy forging lies ; 

Chase in the Treasury, 
Making worthless notes ; 

Curtin at Harrisburg, 
Making shoddy coats ; 



P0LI7ICAL. 

Gillmore at Charleston, 

Lost in a fog ; 
Forney under Abe's chair, 

Barking like a dog ; 

Schenck down at Baltimore, 

Doing dirty work ; 
Butler at Norfolk, 

As savage as a Turk ; 
Sprague in Rhode Island, 

Eating apple-sass ; 
Everett at Gettysburg, 

Talking like an ass ; 

Banks out in Texas, 

Trying to cut a figure ; 
Beecher in Brooklyn, 

Howling for the nigger ; 
Lots of Abolitionists, 

Kicking up a yell, 
In' comes Parson Brownlow 

And sends all to hell ! 

Burnside at Knoxville, 

In a kind of fix ; 
Dahlgreen at Sumter, 

Pounding at the bricks ; 
Grant at Chattanooga, 

Trying Bragg to thrash ; 
If they are not careful 

The Union 's gone to smash ! 



POLITICAL. 



AN APPEAL FOR THE STARVING SOUTH. 



He that stealeth wholesale and relurneth retail, may be truly 
styled the Philanthropist of the Nineteenth Century. 



Ye men of the North who have souls 

As large as a full-grown mosquito, 
I ask you, in Charity's name, 

For a cracker or cold potato ! 

Or anything else you can spare, 

For beggars you know are not choosers. 

However, I earnestly trust, 
That there will be few refusers. 

By giving, you heap coals of fire 

On the head of your " vile Southern brother;" 
As you stole all they had with one hand, 

Some trifle return with the other. 

In exchange for pianos, silk shawls, 

You may give just what trifles you choose ; 

As thimbles, pins, needles, and thread ; 
Or shoe pegs, to mend their old shoes. 

You need not send back silver spoons, 

Gold chains, diamond rings, or gold watches ; 

But give, in return, wooden hams, 

Nutmegs, clothes-pins, tin-pans, or matches. 

For the books you purloined, give some tracts, 
For the folks in the South need salvation ; 

Who knows what such kindness may do 
For men in a state of starvation ? 



22 POLITICAL. 

Mo distinction between black and white 
Will be made in the distribution ; 

Providing they kneel down and swear 
To believe in the new Constitution ; 

Ye men of the North who have souls 
As large as a full-grown mosquito, 

I ask you, in Charity's name, 
For a cracker or cold potato ! 



PUT OUT ANOTHER LOAN. 

Base was the slave who did not pay, 

In Slavery's palmy days ; 
But now, in this enlightened age, 

Base is the slave who pays ! 
The honest paying notion of 

The past we have outgrown, 
And though up to the eyes in debt — 

Put out another loan ! 

There must be no restriction on 

A people brave and free ; 
Restrained from running into debt, 

Where would our freedom be ? 
By giving promises to pay, 

Our credit is well known ; 
And when the interest becomes due — 

Put out another loan ! 

From Jersey to Alaska, 

Resounds the borrowing strain ; 
And echo wafts it back again, 

From Mexico to Maine : 



POLITICAL. 

Bonds unredeemed around as thick 
As Autumn leaves are strewn : 

And thousands are as precious, too — 
Put out another loan ! 

We must keep up appearance, or 

The world will think us poor; 
And to the little we now owe, 

What is ten millions more? 
To such a trifle why should there 

Be opposition shown ? 
And though the city is in pawn — 

Put out another loan ! 

Who ever knew a nation thrive 

By keeping out of debt ? 
Improvements must and shall go on, 

If we the cash can get : 
For have we not an Almshouse, built 

Of costly building stone? 
And must have other things to match — 

Put out another loan ! 

You could not with a microscope, 

See such another chance 
Of lending cash ; now who says "first" 

A million to advance? 
Bonds cleanly Cook-td or nicely Fry-td, 

The safest ever known ; 
Ah ! what a blessing freedom is — 

Put out another loan ! 



Ye who have cash in stocking-leg, 
Had better bring it out ; 

It is unsafe, the while there are 
So many knaves about : 



224 POLITICAL. 

Invest in "promises to pay," 
As rogues are seldom prone 

To steal waste paper ! Anyhow — 
Put out another loan ! 



MR. LO! 

As Congress does not seem to know 

How to dispose of Mr. Lo, 

It may, if he don't choose to go — 

Kill him off! 

And as the land he owns is prized ; 
And ownership to it despised ; 
And as he won't be victimized — 

Kill him off! 

And as he ever has been prone 

To bravely fighting for his own ; 

And won't let swindling knaves alone — 

Kill him off! 

Besides, he swears, steals, drinks, and fights, 
Almost as bad as Christian whites; 
Therefore he has no civil rights — 

Kill him off! 

To civilize him is in vain, 

On our free country he 's a stain ! 

In fact, too honest to remain — 

So, kill him off! 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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